The Sixth Age of Middle Earth
by ElvenAdmirer
Summary: Much has changed over the centuries. Can a single soul bring back the glory of days gone by?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own any of Mr. Tolkien's world, I am only blessed to spin my tale with the places and characters he has provided. This story has been my "baby" for many years and I am finally letting her stretch her wings. I'm sorry if things seem to get heavy with facts in later chapters but it will all work out in the end. :) So please enjoy.

A/N: January 29, 2013- I feel I need to add this note in response to a few reviews that I have received. First I would like to answer a few questions: "Am I anti-Darwinism and a Creationist?" Yes, I am. "Does being a Creationist mean that I believe in God?" Yes, it does. In light of those two responses, yes, my writing does reflect my worldview strongly. I am mostly writing this story for my enjoyment and I decided to start posting it on a whim, not to cause any offense. I'm glad to have found those of you who enjoy my story and I am also thankful for the few negative criticisms that I have received. So I leave it up to you, my readers, if you decide to continue on with my story or not. If not, I wish you well. If so, please enjoy.

Wishing you all the best,

ElvenAdmirer

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

The sixth age of Middle Earth, though few use that name now. Hobbits, Dwarves, Orcs, and even Elves have passed into legend. Some even believe that elves never existed, that they are only mythology, conjured up to give meaning to our past. The reigning king, even, does not claim, or seem to want elvish blood in his ancestry.

The mention of the names, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf only earns you a bemused look and an admonishment not to spend so many hours among the mythology texts.

The Quest of Mount Doom is believed to be a fanciful tale, invented to bring renown to the first king of the reunited kingdom. Elessar, the king is said to have existed but Aragorn, one in the same with the latter is looked upon as a hoax.

With the progression of knowledge, men have harnessed the power of the earth. Coal, gas, and steam now power the kingdom of men. Weapons of the great ages and their arts have been usurped from their honored positions. Black powder, once the device of the enemy, has been refined to power weapons that can take a strong man's life without a fight. Men have narrowed the space between life and death to the width of a small trigger, some abusing this power on those who are undeserving.

The children of this age are taught the ways of this earth, not by their parents but by an appointed teacher. Their vital young years are spent squelched inside a lifeless building, all chance of renown or valor snuffed out by the blanket of encouraged mediocrity and pessimism.

Most painful to my heart, though, is the complete denial of our creators. Ilúvatar and the Valar are publicly declared as nonexistent by many peoples. Those who still hope or believe are labeled as social misfits.

This story though is not about the misdeeds of an ungrateful people but of someone who could change people's view forever.

* * *

Tára looked down on the streets of the lower levels. The assortment of ancient stone buildings and newer wood and stucco never failed to divert her thoughts.

"Tára, can you state Rondirion's theory of earthly existence?"

Tára turned her head sharply towards the front of the room, her daydreams dissolving before her eyes. The headmaster scowled at Tára, slapping his pointer against his palm. Tára was obviously too quiet for the headmasters liking, causing the man to repeat the question.

"Rondirion's theory of earthly existence is that our earth was created by a great cataclysm. After the solid mass formed, eons passed before minute life forms were created by the proper conditions and reactions. Thus eons later- again,"

A snicker escaped the lips of Tára's friend, interrupting her for a moment.

"Thus eons later, mankind was formed." Tára's ire flared at the haughty look the headmaster threw her.

"Now, in light of our scientific knowledge and progress, would you endorse that theory today?" the headmaster looked pointedly at Tára, who having no choice answered.

"I would never endorse such a theory. To think that this earth happened by chance would only name you the fool."

A hush settled on the classroom, a typical sign that the other students had caught on to the signs of an oncoming verbal sparring match. Tára watched the headmaster's knuckles whiten as he clenched the wooden pointer in his hand.

"Then, Miss _Tára_, how would you explain the earth's existence?"

Tára's anger flared at the way the headmaster said her name. It was well known about the schooling campus that Tára's name was supposedly from the ancient Elven language.

"The song of the Ainur, the fulfillment of the valar's vision by Ilúvatar. Many texts from ancient authors bear the same account of Middle Earth's creation. As I said before, anyone with even the smallest amount of intellect can see that this world has to be designed by beings greater than our understanding."

"You are drawing your knowledge from _mythological_ texts. There may be only grains of truth in those writings, if any." The headmaster turned away from Tára smugly, mouthing the words Middle Earth incredulously.

Tára took a deep breath before she spoke again. Frustration only seemed to loose her tongue. The headmaster turned quickly as Tára began to speak.

"With all _due_ respect, headmaster, if the texts that I draw my knowledge from are pure mythology, why do they all agree?"

"Those texts were clearly written by the same authors under a false title." The headmaster said quickly. Tára could not help but roll her eyes.

"You know as well as I do that noted scholars and historians have proven the authenticity of both author and text." Tára tried to stop herself but her next words seemed to have a will of their own. " Only those who are unsure of their beliefs and convictions, perhaps even of their social station, would believe something a man invented, just to fit into the mold of today's society."

Tára leaned back into her chair, knowing she had dug herself a deeper grave. The look on the headmaster's face seemed to confirm Tára's fear. The man was about to open his mouth to speak when the bell of the campus tower rang the end of the school day. The headmaster had no choice but to dismiss the class.

Tára gathered her books quickly, rushing for the door. As her foot crossed the threshold, a claw like hand grabbed her arm.

"Just because your father is employed by the king does not mean you are free to behave against the rules of this campus."

Tára felt the urge to speak well up in her stomach, the urge that caused her more harm than good.

"Be thankful that I have not mentioned your dictator like qualities to my father. I do not think that he would take lightly to the thought of you detaining me by force."

The headmaster let go of Tára's arm, an open look of contempt in his eyes. Tára took her opportunity and walked away from the classroom.

* * *

"Tára, wait!"

Tára turned, spotting her friend Emiliana. The younger girl ran towards Tára.

"You really showed the headmaster what you thought of him!" Emiliana giggled in delight.

"Please, Emiliana, do not follow my example. I will not be here next year to protect you if you choose to loose your tongue on the wrong person. I am just glad that I only have a few weeks left before I can be free of the schooling campus."

Emiliana nodded in agreement. Tára would soon be graduating with a few other collegiate students. Even for her wayward tongue, Tára was still the top of her class.

"Do you believe what I said today in class, Emiliana?" Tára looked to her friend, hoping for an affirmative reply.

"Oh, I don't know. What you said was good for an argument, but I don't think even the past can hold up to our modern knowledge."

"I would gladly punch modern knowledge in the teeth sometimes."

Emiliana turned shocked eyes on Tára.

"How can you say that? Modern knowledge and science has given us many luxuries. Why, if scientists hadn't discovered the power of coal, gas, and steam, we would still be in the dark ages!"

Tára rolled her eyes as Emiliana laughed at her own pun.

* * *

The palace complex loomed before Tára. The servant's tunnel to her right would take her home, though Tára resisted its call. Tára felt the need to be alone, she always felt this way after a trying day at the schooling campus. Tára turned to her left moving as stealthily as she could up the cobbled path.

"Its true, it has to be true." Tára said to herself, pushing the nagging of doubt away. The sound of Tára's voice echoed off the marble pillars around her.

The hall of kings. Though it was a place filled with death, Tára felt the most peace when she was surrounded by the great kings of old, as if part of her resided in the halls waiting to be found.

Tára quickly made her way to the most ornate monument. Awe always stopped her before she climbed the steps to the crypt. The words upon the monument were so familiar to Tára but she read them anyway.

"Elessar, High King of Gondor. The line of Isildur renewed."

Tára stepped up to the edge of the crypt, brushing the leaves and dust away from the face of the great king, forever encased in bronze. Tára then walked around the inside of the monument, touching every pillar as she walked by. Nine pillars, upon every pillar the likeness of a face cast in bronze, each with a name underneath. Tára's scouring of historical texts had made her intimately familiar with each person's notable deeds.

Legolas Thranduilion, Gimli son of Gloin, Gandalf the White, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, Boromir son of Denethor, and Arwen Undomiel.

The latter image always caused Tára to sigh, a feeling of sadness coming over her. The face of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen looked down into the face of the passed king. The look preserved upon the woman's face was of deepest sorrow and love.

Tára sighed again. The earth seemed to have such a glorious past but it was locked away.

Tára looked across the monument noticing that Legolas Thranduilion's image was at the feet of Elessar. Though she had seen it before, the coincidence seemed to stick in Tára's mind.

Elves were denied to have even existed, yet here was proof that they really walked this earth. One of Elessar's closest companions and Elessar's bride was said to be an elf.

A sound snapped Tára out of her musings. Something white flashed behind a tomb across from Tára. She walked down the steps, hoping she had not been found out.

The entrance gate to the graveyard suddenly creaked open. Tára held her breath waiting for someone to come haul her away. Her anxiety turned to relief when her brother's head peeked around the gate.

"I thought I would find you here. Come on." Tára's brother waved a hand to follow then disappeared behind the gate. Tára quickly followed feeling as if she were being watched.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

"Secret keys are to be used wisely." Tára's brother, Xander, angled a meaningful glance at her.

"I know I just needed some time to think."

"I don't know what would happen but you know how the king feels about staff taking liberties. Especially when the liberty concerns things that can upset the popular belief of today."

"You know what a hoax that is, Xander."

Tára then related her story of the day's events to her older brother. Xander only listened, not giving his approval or disapproval.

"Sometimes I feel as if I am the only person who wants to know the truth, the only one who sees how wrong our people are when they assume that our world just happened."

"You are not the only one. Don't take too much of the world's weight on your shoulders." Xander looked down at Tára and smiled. "Father said that once you graduate from your schooling, he is going to ask the king that you become one of father's apprentices. Though I am fairly sure that you are leagues ahead of a beginning apprentice's knowledge."

Tára smiled, feeling happy for the first time that day.

"Also," Xander added, "father said that he is close to a breakthrough concerning the Ring of the Stewards."

"Really? That would be wonderful if he were able to discover when it was lost. Tell me, what has he found?"

As Xander started telling Tára what their father had discovered, she could not help but feel pride for having such a noteworthy parent.

Their father, Mardil, was the king's minister of historical documents and keeper of historical sites. Research done by Mardil had aided in the restoration of many historical documents and landmarks.

One of the greatest benefits of their father's occupation was that Xander and Tára had access to the artifacts in their father's care. Including texts from ancient authors that they would otherwise be barred from seeing. Many of the texts detailed a history that Tára could only dream existed.

"He has narrowed the time the ring was lost to the late third age or early fourth." Xander said, snapping Tára back to the present.

"That means it could have belonged to Boromir, Denethor's eldest, when it was lost."

"Exactly." Xander said, smiling excitedly.

The pair walked in happy silence until they came to the front door of their house. Xander turned to Tára, a grave look in his eye.

"You do remember what today is, right?"

Tára nodded, slowly as Xander opened the door.

"Ah, welcome home!" Tára and Xander entered their house to the usual greeting.

"Hello father." Tára embraced the man coming towards her. She stepped back to look her father in the eye. The look in the eyes of Mardil told Tára all she needed to know.

"Are you doing alright, father?" Tára asked.

"I am fine as long as I have you two and my texts." Mardil mustered a smile for his two grown children. Tára and Xander exchanged a glance. Today would have been the 30th anniversary of their parent's marriage. Their mother, Melina, had died giving birth to Tára twenty years earlier. Tára involuntarily looked to the mantle where the portrait of Mardil and Melina used to hang. Shaking her sad thoughts away, Tára sat down on a chair by the fireplace. Her stomach knotted when she saw that her father was observing the empty place above the mantle as well.

"Xander tells me that you are close to a breakthrough concerning the Ring of the Stewards. What have you found?" Tára saw that her diversion worked for her father's eyes lit with excitement.

"I have actually confirmed that the Stewards ring belonged to Denethor's eldest son, Boromir. The ring was given to Boromir when he came of age. Now, as we know, Boromir joined the group called the Fellowship to destroy Sauron's Ring. My theory is that the ring of the Stewards was lost some time during the quest."

"That is a lot of ground to cover, father." Xander said tracing his finger along a line on a map of Middle Earth.

"Not to mention that the son of Denethor was slain midway through the quest." Tára added.

"True, but you have an important part to play my daughter for you know more about the happenings of the early ages than most people. And if I remember correctly, you have read all of the accounts and commentaries on the Third age several times."

"Still," Tára added, "I fear that this might be a fruitless venture given the circumstance surrounding Boromir."

"You underestimate your knowledge. There is always a way to find something Tára, you just have to know where to look."

Tára smiled at her father. "What else are you working on?" she asked, settling in for an evening of her favorite pastime.

* * *

Tára bolted upright, the book she had been reading falling to the floor. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lighting flashed again, causing Tára to jump up and close the shutters on her widow. With the room darkened, Tára noticed a light shining under her door. Her father was still up. Wrapping her robe around her, Tára exited her room. The gas lamps still sputtered in the hallway. Down the hall a ways, the door of Mardil's study was ajar. Tára found her father dozing in his favorite chair by the small fireplace. The fire looked like it was all but ready to die out.

"Father?" Tára called, half-sorry to wake the sleeping man. Mardil jerked awake, a dazed expression on his face.

"Melina? What?"

"It's me father, Tára. You fell asleep."

"Oh," Tára's father sighed. "You look so much like your mother." Mardil looked at his daughter but did not rise from his chair. Tára found a seat of her own, sensing that her father wanted to talk. Tára barely got comfortable when her father began to speak.

"Did I ever tell you about your mother's funeral?"

"Yes, a few times." Tára answered quietly.

"I told you part of what happened. Xander does not even know what I am going to tell you. I have not told you yet because I did not feel you were old enough and now I feel as if I should have told you sooner. Well anyway, here's how it goes." An odd look came into Mardil's eyes as he paused. "You know how the funeral went but what happened afterward is what I want to tell you."

"We were the last people at your mother's grave; you and I. Xander had gone with your grandparents. They offered to take you but I would hear none of it. You were the last person who had experienced Melina's love and the thought of you leaving my care was a thought that I could not bear."

"I stood there, grieving for my lost spouse, holding a three day old baby as if my life depended on it. Suddenly, a person was standing next to me."

"'I grieve for your loss.' the person said. He then turned to me and held out his arms. The only thing I remember about this person was his eyes, because a black scarf hid the rest of his face. This person looked at me with such a guileless sincerity that I handed you to him without question."

Mardil stopped to yawn, leaving Tára on the edge of her seat. To her relief, Tára's father continued talking.

"Anyway, this stranger held you in his arms and began talking to you in a language that I did not understand. I have tried many times to remember what the words were but all I remember was that they sounded like music."

"The stranger just held you, murmuring to you in his musical language. He eventually stopped, kissing you on your forehead through his scarf. He turned to me handing you back into my arms. Now, these words I do remember. Before he gave you back to me he said to you so quietly that I barely heard, 'I have waited.'"

Tára furrowed her brow, her father's story puzzling her.

"Well, when he handed you back to me, he said, 'your daughter will touch the lives of many.' Before I said anything else, he was gone."

Tára looked at her father, trying to gauge if he were fully awake.

"One more thing that I might add," Mardil held up one finger. "You may call me crazy but I have come to the conclusion that the person I met at the tombs was an Elf."

Excitement shot through Tára at her father's conclusion. She had literally only read about the elven kind and most of the texts stated that the elves had passed out of existence.

"How could you know? Did you see his face clearly?"

Mardil held up his hand to stop Tára's questions.

"I did not see any of the distinguishing characteristics of the elven kind. The person was hooded and cloaked in black. Of his physical features, all I saw were the  
greenest eyes I have ever seen and a small scar across the top of his cheek. The only way I came to my conclusion was by my own recollection of the person's behavior. If you want any knowledgeable proof, I have none."

Though the thought of one of the elven kind still living among men sparked Tára's imagination, her heart fell at the seemingly flimsy evidence her father drew his conclusions upon. Trying to keep her disappointment hidden, Tára smiled.

"Thank you for telling me this." Tára said sounding a little unconvincing to her own ears.

"Well, you are welcome. You should be off to bed now." Mardil rose pulling his daughter to him for a quick hug. Wishing her father goodnight, Tára walked back to her room, hoping that her thoughts would calm down long enough for her to sleep.

* * *

The new day arrived, heralded by a monstrous storm. Thankfully, for Tára, the schooling campus was closed for the ending of the week. Looking out the window, Tára tried convincing herself that she could be a lot worse off. The fact that Mardil and Xander had gone to the royal archives without her seemed to darken Tára's mood until it matched the weather. After staring out the window for a while, Tára decided to use her time in a more productive manner. She moved over to the table that was overflowing with her father's books and maps, clearing a small space for a pen and inkwell. Pulling a large volume from the chaos, Tára leafed through the book until she found what she was looking for. The chronicling of the years of the third age lay before her.

Taking a deep breath, Tára began listing all the times Boromir of Gondor was mentioned. If they were to find the Ring of the Stewards, it would be wise to know of Boromir's every recorded appearance.

Time flew by as Tára wrote. Though the task was not necessarily needed, Tára felt that she was helping her father in some way. Throughout her writing, Tára would catch herself, reading more than what she needed. Every mention of the scion of Denethor's house led to an interesting fact about the man himself. Those facts led to more facts about other noteworthy people of Boromir's time. Soon Tára found that her head was throbbing and that her right foot was asleep.

Laying aside her pen, Tára rose and stretched. The window in front of her showed that the driving rain had diminished to a drizzle. Acting on impulse, Tára wrote a quick note to her father, grabbed her heavy coat and left the house.

The air outside was crisp and cool, smelling of damp earth. The street was virtually empty, leading Tára to the conclusion that it was nearly time for the evening meal. Stepping down from the pillared porch of their house, Tára ran through a list of places that she could possibly visit. Deciding against every option, Tára was left with only one. Turning around, Tára headed west. Though she had been there the day before, the allure of the ancient hall of kings drew Tára to its gate.

Tára looked up into the drizzle, fishing around in her coat for the key to the gate. There had been hardly any people out on the streets, though Tára felt as if she had been followed. Halfway to the halls, she had turned around to look behind her shoulder. It was so quick that she had thought she had imagined it but she thought that she had seen someone turn quickly down a side street. Her nerves had been on edge the rest of the way to the ancient landmark.

Tára soon found the key and opened the passageway, slipping silently through.

As if on cue, lightening flashed as Tára closed the gate. The wind and rain picked up, pounding down on Tára's head like small stones. Tára ran quickly towards Elessar's monument, not stopping until she was under the ornate dome. The dome blocked the direct rain though a mist continually blew around her.

"I might as well wait this out." Tára said to herself, sliding down to sit on the cool marble floor. Darkness soon came, giving Tára an uneasy feeling. Standing up, Tára steeled herself for the walk home. Darting from monument to monument Tára tried her best to stay dry.

Suddenly, over the wind and rain, Tára heard a faint creaking noise. The gate to the tombs swung open, lanterns bobbed through the opening. Tára crouched behind the nearest crypt, peeking around its corner. The group of lanterns stopped before the fork in the path, one branch going towards the hall of the Stewards and the other branch leading to the hall of Kings.

"Well, where do we go?" a voice said over the noise of the rain.

"Please, believe us. What you seek has no power. You will only go mad if you try to use it."

Tára felt a cold stab of fear in her stomach. The second voice belonged to her father. The sound of something solid hitting flesh met Tára's ears.

"We tell the truth."

Xander. Tára felt panic rising in her chest. She leaned out as far as she dared from the edge of the crypt. Lightening flashed, illuminating the group. By some strange coincidence, Xander looked up. His eyes met Tára's for a brief instant. In that split second, Tára saw fear in her brother's eyes. Summing up all her strength, Tára slipped away from her hiding place, ducking behind the few tombstones between her and the men holding her father and brother.

"Tell me which way to go, or I will have my men shoot your son." The speaker snapped his fingers and the men around him aimed their muskets at Xander. When the speaker turned towards Tára's hiding place, lightening flashed illuminating his face.

"The steward?" Tára whispered incredulously.

The man in question turned again towards the place where Tára was hiding. Tára ducked behind the cold marble, adrenaline surging through her veins. A hand suddenly clamped around her arm, pulling Tára away from her hiding place.

"Look what we have here. This might as well be a family affair." Tára found herself struggling against the Stewards grasp. Mardil and Xander both turned deathly pale.

Suddenly, the Steward was on the ground gasping for breath. Tára, Mardil, Xander, and the men following the Steward stared in shocked silence. Xander snapped back to his senses, breaking free from the men's grasp.

"Run Tára!" Xander yelled, pushing his sister away from the Steward.

Tára sprinted for the first place that came to her mind. Elessar's monument. She sprinted between the ornate tombstones with the ease of familiarity, adrenaline fueling her muscles. Reaching the steps of the High King's tomb, Tára turned around. Several men ran behind her, clubs and muskets at the ready. Beyond them, Xander lay on the ground, a gash above his right eye.

"No!" Tára yelled, her panic returning.

A sound like the shattering of stone filled the graveyard. Tára looked above her as a bolt of lightening descended towards her. Time seemed to slow, freezing the look of horror on Mardil's face. The last thing Tára remembered was a dark shape of a person darting in and out of her pursuers, driving each one of them to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Something wet splashed on Tára's face, bringing the realization to her mind that she was freezing cold. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. They were met by a view of a leafy canopy of grey and gold. A strange but pleasant scent wafted through the air.

A leaf directly above Tára overturned, pouring a steady stream of water onto her face. Sitting up quickly, Tára realized that she was soaked to the skin. Her lower half was in a small stream that was swelling from the rain. Tára pulled her feet out of the water and tucked them underneath her, her toes numb from the cold. For the first time, Tára realized that her shoes were missing. Looking down at what she was wearing, Tára felt a moment of panic. Gone were her light pants, tunic, and coat and in their place, a blue dress.

Tára stood quickly, searching the immediate area for her things. She found nothing. Panic again rose to the surface but Tára pushed it away.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The only answer was the soft patter of the light rain. Tára turned in a slow circle, calling out again.

"Is anyone out there?"

This time Tára's question was answered by a fast buzzing sound and a blur of color flying past her face. Turning around, Tára found an object that resembled a reed, quivering in the trunk of a tree. Grasping the object carefully, Tára pulled it out of the tree. The shiny glint of steel met her eyes as she realized that the object was an arrow.

Suddenly, Tára's arms were pulled behind her and she was whirled around. Standing in front of her was a man, at least in gender. His golden hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, revealing two pointed ears.

"I am Haldir, warden of Lothlórien and servant of the Lady of Light. What is your purpose here?"

_Lothlórien… The Lady of Light…elves?_ Tára's mind swirled with questions, causing her to stare at the one named Haldir. The elf's face seemed to soften for a moment, and then he spoke again.

"What is your purpose here, human?"

Tára's mind seemed to snap back into action at the repetition of the question.

"I do not know how I came to be here, I'm sorry I…"

"What is your name?" Haldir interrupted, motioning to the unseen people behind Tára. Tára's arms were released as several other elves came into view.

"My name is Tára, the daughter of Mardil."

The people in front of Tára stood motionlessly, waiting for Haldir to speak. A question popped into Tára's mind, one that she could not help but voice.

"Are you all elves?" she asked, feeling a sense of unreality settle over her. Again, Haldir's expression seemed to soften, though only for a moment.

"Yes we are all of elven blood. The Lady is expecting you."

Before Tára knew it, a blindfold was tied over her eyes and hands grabbed onto her arms, leading her through the forest.

* * *

"My lord Celeborn and lady Galadriel, I bring you the intruder you sensed inside our border."

Galadriel nodded. "I see, Haldir. You may remove the blindfolds."

Haldir obeyed, untying the dark cloth quickly. The young woman before the royal couple squinted and rubbed her eyes. She looked around herself in confusion, eliciting a compassionate look from both Celeborn and Galadriel.

"I trust that you treated this young woman with the honor due a lady." Celeborn said, noticing the condition of the young woman's attire.

"As much courtesy as these times will allow, my lord."

"Thank you Haldir. You may return to your post." Galadriel said with a slight wave of her hand.

Haldir bowed and strode away from the young woman, leaving her alone before Celeborn and Galadriel. The young woman looked dangerously pale.

"Child, what is your name?" Celeborn asked gently.

The young woman swallowed and looked up at the royal pair with something akin to panic in her eyes. To Celeborn's surprise though, the young woman spoke.

"My name is Tára, the daughter of Mardil."

"How did you come into our realm?" Galadriel now asked. The young woman looked a hair's breadth away from tears but she seemed to master herself and spoke.

"I do not know how I got here. I was running away from some people, lightening flashed, and then I woke up here. I can't even tell if I am dreaming or not."

Galadriel looked to Celeborn then spoke. "I can assure you, Tára daughter of Mardil that you are the farthest away from a dream that you can possibly be. Take comfort though for you are welcome in our realm until you are sure of your course."

At Galadriel's words, an elf came to Tára's side and took her arm gently, leading her away.

When Tára was being led to her room, reality finally sank in. Whatever was going on, dream or not, she was somehow taken back to the early ages.

The wheels in Tára's head started spinning, seeming to work twice as fast at processing all that she had observed.

_If Galadriel is still in middle earth, and Lothlórien borders are heavily patrolled, that means…_

Tára's thoughts were interrupted as the elf leading her came to a halt. They stood in what looked like a pavilion attached to the base of a giant tree. A large feather bed sat against the tree's trunk. A mirror and a piece of furniture that Tára could only guess was a wardrobe, sat beside the giant bed. Light drapes hung between the pillars that held up the roof of the pavilion, some were pulled closed for privacy. The elf leading Tára turned to face her.

"My Lady has requested that you dine with her and her husband tonight."

Tára looked down at her dress and cringed inwardly. The elf seemed to sense the question forming on Tára's lips.

"My Lady has also arranged for her seamstress to come and tailor gowns to fit you."

"Thank you." Tára replied, feeling as if she should say more. The elf bowed and silently walked around Tára, disappearing down the path.

Tára sat carefully on the bed, laying down when she felt how soft it was.

"I have some serious thinking to do." Tára whispered to herself, feeling the sense of unreality return in full force. Tára's eyes slid shut against her will; she realized she must have dozed off when the rustle of fabric alerted Tára to the arrival of Galadriel's seamstress. Tára sat up, watching an elegantly clad elf glide into her room. The elf that had led Tára to the room followed closely behind the seamstress.

"Silumé wishes to measure you."

Silumé motioned for Tára to stand and hold out her arms. The elven woman circled Tára a few times then said something quickly to the other elf.

"Silumé will return with your gowns in one turn of the water clock."

Tára looked to where the elf pointed, noticing a fountain like structure just outside the fluttering drapes of the far side of the pavilion.

"There are some loaves of bread and fruit if you are hungry." The elf pointed to a bowl on a slender table that Tára had not noticed before. The elves where halfway out the door when Tára called them back. The elf that had translated for Silumé returned, looking expectantly ant Tára.

"I just wanted to know your name, so that if I needed anything I would at least know someone to call." Tára felt as if she was a young child again but the elf before her did not seem to mind.

"My name is Legoelen, great niece to Thranduil of Taúr E-ndaedelos." The elf smiled and walked silently away, leaving Tára in more of a quandary.

"Great niece to Thranduil?" Tára said incredulously, plopping back onto the bed. If she were dreaming, her mind must be in frenzy.

Tára studied the intricate patterns on the ceiling of her pavilion, mulling over the radical turn of events that had befallen her.

If she were in a different age, where were Xander and her father? Were they all right? If she were in a previous age, how did she get here? How would she get home? Did she have a home anymore?

That thought caused Tára to sit up, a cold feeling of dread filling her. The circumstance that had surrounded Mardil and Xander when Tára had last seen them, were anything but good.

Tára sat in silence for a while, starting when Legoelen, strode through the entrance to the pavilion, carrying an armful of gowns. The speed at which the garments were altered astounded Tára.

"It is time for you to make ready for the evening meal."

Legoelen pulled a gown from the pile, motioning for Tára to come forward. Soon Tára was wearing the most exquisite gown that she had ever seen. Legoelen guided Tára to the mirror, pulling a small stool out of a hidden alcove. The elven woman set to work quickly, brushing Tára's hair smooth and then arranging it in a simple but elegant style. Looking her work over, Legoelen nodded to her self then pulled Tára up from the stool.

"I will lead you to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel now."

Tára followed Legoelen out of the pavilion, hoping with all her being that the lord and lady could answer her questions.

* * *

Time seemed to fly by for Tára. A scary thought when she was in an age that was described as mythology. She had ceased trying to wake herself, hoping she was only in a vivid dream. All that resulted was a line of small purple bruises along her arm and chagrin for having pinched herself. Tára found out by asking the Lady Galadriel that the year was 3018 of the Third age. Tára had arrived in Lothlórien on the fourteenth day of the first month of the year, now it was the seventeenth. An odd sense of foreboding filled Tára. The time and place seemed to remind her of something she had read, though the exact answer eluded her grasp.

For the past three days, Tára had been treated with hospitality, but she had been lived around. She spent most of her day in her room, reading, of all things, the account of the Silmarils and the Fëanorian rebellion. Hours flew by as Tára devoured the book. The account was said to be first hand, written by one of the Noldorin rebels. That thought alone astounded Tára, for if that book existed in her time, it would be declared as a fallacy. Turning the last page over, Tára realized that she was squinting at the words. Finishing the book, Tára stood and stretched. The only appealing thing to Tára that she could think of was to take a walk.

Outside of the pavilion, a cool breeze wafted through the golden leaves. Tára thought that she had never seen such a beautiful sight. Doubt swelled in Tára over the reality of the scene, spoiling its beauty. Sighing, Tára started down the trail.

For a while, she did not pay attention to where she was going, aimlessly picking trails to follow. The murmur of voices ahead of Tára caused her step to quicken. She emerged at the base of the great Mallorn tree housing Galadriel and Celeborn's throne room. From her vantage point, Tára saw a group of people walking down the stairs. Their pace and image told Tára that these people were weary beyond reckoning. Recognition dawned as Tára saw the elf leading the travelers. Haldir walked before the group, a troubled look on his face.

Now on the last turn of the stairway, the group came into full view. Tára gasped as the faces before her became familiar. Before Tára, stood eight members of the group called the Fellowship. Every face she connected with a name as Tára looked in awe at the people before her. With a sinking feeling, she realized where the ninth member was.

At the head of the group, following Haldir stood Aragorn. The man looked as if he would fall over any minute. The Halfling, Frodo, followed the ranger. The hobbit looked distant and cold. Beside him stood the hobbit, Tára recognized as Sam, Frodo's closest companion. Two other hobbits followed whom Tára recognized as Merry and Pippin. Both of the young Halflings looked dazed. Gimli the dwarf followed the two at a grave pace. If Tára did not know better, she would have labeled the look on the dwarf's face as dreamy.

Finally at the rear came two people, that at their recognition, Tára felt as if her heart would stop. Boromir of Gondor and Legolas Greenleaf brought up the rear of the grave procession. Legolas looked in Tára's direction, giving a faint smile. Tára looked over her shoulder, seeing Legoelen standing behind her. Tára was touched at the elven prince's small gesture towards his distant cousin.

Tára stood watching the fellowship until they were out of sight, her head spinning with this new development. She went back to her room, finding that someone had lit the lamps and laid out a small meal of fruit for her.

"This is too fantastic to not be real." Tára said to herself.

_The fellowship has just come from the mines of Moria. They have just lost Gandalf, their leader. After they leave this place, they will lose…_

Tára shook her head, stopping her train of thought. A sinking feeling now replaced her excitement. The burden of knowing the future, settled like a dark cloud over Tára. If she were to interfere with the decision making of the fellowship, the results could be disastrous.

"No wonder humans aren't able to see the future." Tára said to herself. "I need to do something."

Tára grabbed a piece of fruit, walking quickly away from her room. The grass of the path was cool under Tára's bare feet, calming her some.

Suddenly, a voice above Tára started singing. Soon other voices joined the leading voice. The music was disturbingly beautiful.

Before long, Tára was a good distance away from her pavilion. She was not worried though, for the wood exuded a feeling of safety.

Rounding a bend in the path, Tára found herself falling to the ground. Strong arms reached down and caught her, pulling Tára close to a broad chest, at least that was what first greeted her eyes. Tára looked up into a very handsome face, realizing whom she had run into. Boromir stood before Tára, his hands still loosely on her shoulders.

"Forgive me, I did not see you." Tára said, stepping away from the man's touch.

"It is alright, no harm was done." Boromir answered, smiling at Tára's embarrassed expression. "It is an uncommon thing to see a human lodging with elves, especially here." The man added looking at Tára's round ears.

"I have only been here a short time, so I am not sure if I have worn out my welcome yet." Tára hedged, starting to walk again. Boromir fell in beside Tára, matching her pace.

"It is actually a comfort to know that there is more of the race of men here besides myself and the ranger in our company."

Tára inwardly flinched at the edge of cynicism in Boromir's voice when he mentioned Aragorn. Her ire rose at the man's tone but she kept the words that were swirling in her head from leaving her mouth. She only looked at the man beside her, a strained smile on her face.

Boromir returned Tára's gaze, studying her for a moment. He then let out a quiet laugh.

"You are among the small number of women that have had the fortitude to keep her tongue still when they are in my presence. Tell me, what is your name?" Boromir stopped, leaned against one of the trees lining the path, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"My name is Tára; I am the daughter of Mardil." Tára said, stopping and standing on the opposite side of the path.

"Well, Tára, I should like to meet the rest of your company, if they are as strong in character as you. Do you even realize who you are talking to right now?"

"You are Boromir, the eldest son of the reigning steward and brother to Faramir." Tára said with confidence. Boromir seemed amused and not the least bit disturbed that Tára knew who he was.

"Very good, my lady, most young women I come into contact with can only blurt my name and stare as if they have gone mad."

Tára cocked an eyebrow at the man's open display of arrogance.

"If you had been my brother, that speech would earn you a couple of boxed ears."

Boromir let out a burst of laughter, the shadow in his eyes leaving for a moment.

"Truly, I must meet your brother. If his sister is apt to discipline him, he must be a very strong man."

For once in the short time that she had been in Lothlórien, Tára felt as if she could laugh. The thoughts that struck her though robbed her of any impulse to do so. Her heart sank, the frustration of her situation causing her no small annoyance.

"I am afraid that you will not be able to meet my brother…"

"Has he gone to his fathers?" Boromir asked, interrupting Tára.

"Oh, no. it is just that I doubt that you two will ever be in the same place at the same time." The truth of Tára's statement was cruelly ironic.

"Well, are any of your kin here?" Boromir asked not to be dissuaded. Tára only shook her head in reply.

"You traveled here alone? " The man asked incredulously, studying Tára.

"I…well, in a way, yes." The hesitancy in Tára's answer seemed to trigger a reaction in Boromir.

"You were brought here against your will? If this had happened in my city…"

"Please, do not bother your self with how I came here. I was not hurt. I'm not sure why exactly I am here but it can't be all bad."

Boromir still looked troubled. "You truly have the gift of graciousness, if you can overlook such a turn of circumstances against you."

"Please, my lord, do not trouble your self with my problems, you are here to rest, and that is what you should do."

"I have never really been comfortable with people addressing me as 'lord', especially women. You are free to use my given name if I am free to use yours."

The change of subject caught Tára off guard, giving her a moment's pause.

"You are free to call me Tára, though do not abuse the privilege." Tára looked at Boromir with the most serious look she could muster. It failed though, for Boromir saw through her teasing.

"One minute you reprimand me and the next, you jest at me. You truly are an interesting woman."

Tára tried to hide her embarrassment, hearing the almost flirtatious tone in the man's voice. She looked up into the canopy, noticing that the sky above had gone dark. A few stars were lucky to peek through the dense foliage.

"I am sorry, I should be going. I've kept you from your rest long enough."

"May I accompany you to your lodgings? The elves think that everyone can see as well as them."

"As you wish, then." Tára replied, feeling self-conscious.

Tára started back the way she had come, Boromir once again falling in beside her. Twice the man had put out his hand for Tára when the path had been barely visible. The entrance to Tára's pavilion soon came into view. Upon the threshold, Tára turned to Boromir.

"Thank you for your escort, Boromir."

"It would have been a shame not to offer. Mayhap I will see you tomorrow. I believe my companions would enjoy your company."

Excitement shot through Tára at the thought of meeting the other members of the fellowship, though it was tempered by caution.

"I would enjoy meeting the others in your company, though I would not want to disturb their rest."

"I am sure that will not be the case."

Tára stood in indecision for a moment then spoke.

"Then I will see you tomorrow, Boromir. Thank you again and goodnight."

"You are welcome, Tára." Boromir replied smiling in a most distracting way. "I will look for you in the morning. Farewell."

Tára stood at the threshold, watching the figure of Boromir fade into the night. Sighing, Tára walked into the pavilion, pulling the drapes closed. Her encounter with the Steward's son played over again through her mind. A resolute feeling pushed Tára's doubt away.

"For whatever reason I am here, I will see my purpose through." Tára said, sinking into the soft mattress of her bed.

A/N: I know what some of you may be thinking: "Not another tenth walker fic... ugh..." I promise this is not one of those type of stories. Please stick with me!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

The next morning was deceptively sunny, for the pervading emotion of the wood was grief. Tára's dreams had been colored with the elven laments that had floated through the night air.

Tára rolled out of bed, grabbing the brush Legoelen had given to her. Once her hair was presentable, Tára opened the wardrobe housing the gowns that Silumé had altered. Tára reached in and pulled out a deep burgundy gown. Its simple, elegant style appealed to her tastes.

Tára laughed quietly as she slipped the gown over her head. Silumé had to take almost six inches from the bottom of the dress. At only five and a half feet tall, Tára had to look up most of the time when speaking to an elf. Checking her appearance in the mirror, Tára grabbed some fruit from a bowl and left her room.

* * *

Breakfast had been a subdued affair. Everybody ate ravenously but barely was a word spoken. To Boromir, Frodo looked as if he could snap any minute. Boromir shook his head. Thinking about the Halfling would only make him think about his own dark thoughts. After his talk with Aragorn the night before, Boromir had felt out of sorts, a shadow seeming to hover over his head. He had gone for a walk, against his better judgment to clear his head. He was rewarded by meeting the young woman named Tára.

_What a strange creature._ Boromir thought.

"Boromir, have you seen my pipe?"

The question snapped the man out of his reverie.

"No Merry, I am sorry."

The hobbit's face fell. Boromir, sensing an opportunity, stood up.

"I am going to stretch my legs." Boromir walked away quickly, not giving anyone time to offer to accompany him. Once on a small path, Boromir's thoughts turned back to Tára.

The young woman looked to be only twenty or twenty-one summers. She was easy to look at as well. Standing only to Boromir's shoulder, Tára was set apart from the woman of Gondor who stood almost equal to their men. Tára was slender but strong looking, an odd combination but attractive. The most striking feature of her face was her eyes. They were deep brown and almond shaped, contrasting dramatically with her light skin. Her mouth looked as if it had done its fair share of laughing as well as talking. From the little that Boromir saw the night before, he was instantly attracted to the woman. Something though seemed to trouble her, for Boromir noticed how Tára's eyes had seemed shadowed, almost as if she knew a great secret.

A sound ahead of Boromir drew him out of his musings. A familiar voice floated down the path towards him.

"Today is the 18th, which means that they have twenty-nine more days…"

Tára came into Boromir's view, and to his delight, she looked beautiful. She did not seem to notice the man standing in her way. Boromir saw that she was eating something. She lifted what seemed to be an apple to her mouth, taking a bite. The action had an odd fetching quality to it. Boromir spoke, not wanting Tára to think that he had been watching her long.

"Do you always talk to yourself when you're alone?" Boromir asked, watching Tára start. The young woman's eyes went wide as she put a hand to her chest.

"For goodness' sake, you could be a little louder. I mean… oh, hello."

Boromir smiled his most charming grin. "I would be afraid to receive a real tongue lashing from you." The man inwardly congratulated himself when he saw a pink blush rise from Tára's collarbone.

"I am sorry, but I seem to lose all discretion when I am startled."

"I am sorry, my lady." Boromir said, bowing teasingly to Tára. "Actually, I was hoping to find you. I have not forgotten my offer to introduce you to my companions."

Tára felt the same surge of excitement that had run through her the night before. Boromir took her silence as indecision.

"I would be there of course." Boromir looked at Tára with hope in his eyes.

"I would be happy to take your offer." Tára said, smiling at Boromir.

"If I may?" Boromir walked up to Tára and held out his arm for her to take. Tára slid her hand timidly into the crook of the man's arm, a new nagging feeling welling in her chest.

The fellowship's camp was closer than Tára had expected. Upon seeing the edge of the camp, Tára tensed slightly. Boromir must have sensed her nervousness, for he looked down at Tára and smiled.

"Half of my companions are only as half as tall as you; you have no need to be afraid."

A small smile escaped Tára's lips at Boromir's unintentionally comical reassurance. Sooner than Tára's comfort would have liked, Boromir led her into the perimeter of the camp.

The four hobbits sat together, three of the four smoking long clay pipes. Gimli sat with his back to a tree, running a whetstone along the edge of his axes. Aragorn sat at the far end of the camp reading a piece of parchment. Legolas could barely be seen, for he was hidden on the branches of a young mallorn tree. The elf was obviously deep in thought. Pippin was the first to notice the newcomers. Tára took her arm away from Boromir's as the other members of the fellowship became aware of her presence.

"Hello Boromir. I see you have found a friend." Pippin rose and walked over to the pair.

"Yes I have. Allow me to introduce the woman Tára the daughter of Mardil. I met her last night and she was kind enough to accept my invitation to come meet you."

"Tis' a pleasure meeting you, Tára." Pippin said, taking Tára's hand. "I'm Peregrin Took, though most everyone calls me Pippin. This is my cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck but we just call him Merry…"

"I can do my own introductions Pip." Merry nudged his talkative cousin out of the way and shook Tára's hand warmly. "It's a pleasure meeting you miss."

"The pleasure is mine." Tára was finally able to say.

Sam and Frodo made their way forward.

"Samwise Gamgee, at your service."

Tára shook the offered hand a smiled at the bashful hobbit. Frodo came after Sam. He smiled at Tára but it looked as if the action was sapping the Halflings strength.

"Frodo Baggins; it is a pleasure meeting you miss."

"It is a pleasure for me as well." Tára smiled into the Halfling's clear blue eyes. She was struck with how soulful and beautiful the blue orbs seemed to be. Behind Frodo, Gimli lumbered to his feet.

"It is a pleasure to meet another so beautiful in this fair land." The dwarf took Tára's hand and gave it a whiskery kiss. Tára smiled at the dwarf who answered with a wink.

Tára turned to look at the far end of the fellowship's camp. Aragorn now stood, watching Boromir and Tára closely. The ranger instantly schooled his features as Boromir led Tára toward Aragorn. In that split second before the ranger's face became unreadable, Tára detected various emotions. She saw curiosity and intrigue, though the most evident emotion was that of concern.

"Lady Tára," the ranger merely said, raising Tára's hand to his lips.

"It is an honor, Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Tára lowered her head in respect.

A slight rustling of leaves gave evidence that Legolas was on his way down. Tára's heart seemed to skip a beat as the elf alighted behind Aragorn. The elf came forward, raising Tára's hand to his lips as Aragorn had done.

"Legolas Thranduilion," Tára said looking down at her at her feet. She must have been pale, for when she looked up again, the elf was looking at Tára compassionately.

"Well met, little one." Legolas said. The elf then leaned down, whispering in Tára's ear, "you have no need to fear."

Tára's timid smile was returned by a dazzling smile from the elven prince.

"It is a strange thing that the elves are allowing men to lodge with them. Tell me, how did you gain permission to sojourn here?" Aragorn asked, not unkindly.

"I cannot say exactly..."

"It is a story for another time." Boromir interrupted, causing Tára to stop speaking, feeling as if she had made a mistake. Boromir's challenge could not be more visible than stars in the night sky. Tára looked to Legolas, who had a longsuffering expression on his face. The elf motioned to Tára to follow him back into the camp a ways.

"Please, have a seat." The elf said, waving his hand towards some pillows bellow the branches of a mallorn tree. Tára sat down timidly, not exactly sure what to do. Once Tára was comfortable, Legolas sat down across from her. The elf looked at Tára kindly, though she could see sadness in his gaze.

"You will have to forgive Boromir, he and Aragorn have not gotten along as well as Aragorn had hoped. He has tried though. Boromir is a proud man and it is hard to chip that exterior away."

Tára only looked at the elf, not wanting to agree or disagree.

"Boromir did not allow you to speak for yourself, so I ask you to now. How did you come to Lórien?" Legolas looked at Tára intently though not demandingly.

Tára's mind scrambled for a moment, trying to think of what to say. She opted for the only logical thing that could come to her mind, the truth.

"To be completely honest with you, I do not know how I came to Lothlórien. I was in my home city, a storm came up, lightening flashed, and then I was here. Please believe me; I would not make up something like this." Tára looked back into the elf's gaze, hoping that he would believe her.

After some thought, Legolas spoke. "Strange things happen these days. Who am I to say that the Valar did not will this?"

"You think this is the work of the Valar? _The_ Valar?"

"I sense something in you, Tára, Something that bears testimony to your tale. The song of the earth grew louder when you came near, a rare thing among the children of men."

Legolas stopped as a burst of laughter shattered the quiet of the camp. Tára followed the elf's gaze, finding that Merry and Pippin had done something to amuse themselves. The Halflings quieted down when they realized they were being watched.

"At least they have found some joy after what happened." Tára said quietly, noticing that Legolas' gaze shifted from the young hobbits to her.

"We have spoken to no one except to the lord and lady about our quest, yet you seem to know something that we have spoken only to a few." The elf said, leaning forward.

"I can say without guilt that I know more of this age then what you would think." Tára watched Legolas study her. Even though she had spoken the truth, Tára still felt as if her honesty was being tested. The elf remained silent, causing Tára to look away.

At the edge of the camp, the two men stood watching Tára interact with Legolas.

"You cannot become attached to her Boromir," Aragorn said quietly. "You only met her yesterday. Your attachment will only lead to strife that we cannot risk. Division in our fellowship now will be irreparable."

"You assume too much, Aragorn, for as you said, I only met her yesterday." Boromir answered. "Why do you not trust my ability to judge a persons character?"

"It is not the lady's character that I am concerned about. What I am concerned about is unity and rest for the fellowship. All our emotions are ragged, vulnerable. Give yourself some time for peace and…"

"I know when to fight, and I know when to have peace, why are the acquaintances I make of any importance to you?" Boromir cut Aragorn off brusquely.

Aragorn sighed. "I am just warning you friend. Do not make a commitment that you cannot uphold. You and she are both out of your element. Do not take advantage of her trust," Aragorn paused, and then went on. "Or ours."

Boromir looked at the ranger beside him, barely controlling his tongue. Aragorn's statement rang true but stung all the same.

"If anyone needs to find me, I will be out."

Aragorn sighed again, knowing the words needed to be said but wishing them back all the same.

* * *

The elven prince before Tára leaned back on his hands, a gesture that reminded her of Xander. Though the elf had seemed concerned about Tára's knowledge, his overall demeanor was that of weariness. The elf had now closed his eyes, his face tilted upward towards the leafy canopy. Once again, the appearance of the elf reminded Tára uncannily of her older brother. Before she could stop herself, Tára spoke.

"My brother gets the same look on his face when he has something on his mind."

Legolas opened his eyes and smiled at Tára. "Really?"

Tára blushed realizing that the elf found her comment amusing. Tára was opening her mouth to speak but Legolas held up his hand to stop her.

"I have found that it is usually an honor to be compared with another's kin, for one of the strongest bonds is that of a family. History has shown that for good or ill, a family will not abandon itself."

Tára nodded in agreement but said nothing. Tára looked past Legolas, smiling at the silly antics of the two younger hobbits. After a long moment, she sighed. "They seem not to be affected quite as much as the others from your time in Moria. It's a shame that such things had to happen for the quest to continue."

"And what do you know of our quest? That is, why are my companions and myself traveling through Middle Earth?" the elf's demeanor seemed to change with this question, the look of weariness coming back into his eyes.

"You, the Fellowship, are here because you are middle earth's only hope. The ring bearer is this earth's only chance to return to peace."

Legolas looked at Tára with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

"You bear your name well, though it is a wonder that a child of men should be called by an elven name."

"What does my name mean?" Tára asked, feeling silly for never learning before.

"It simply means 'wise.'" The elf suddenly stood, holding out his hand to assist Tára. She stood, looking at Legolas questioningly.

"Until our next meeting, Tára." The elf said raising Tára's hand to his lips in farewell.

Tára stood where she was, watching the elf disappear into the trees. A cynical grunt caused Tára to turn, finding that the dwarf Gimli watched her.

"Elves are strange flighty creatures m'lady. If I were you, I wouldn't involve myself too deeply with them."

"I would not be so quick to draw any conclusions master dwarf. Elves are one if the strongest allies a person can have."

The dwarf grunted again at Tára's comment.

"I see that you have caught the eye if Boromir." Gimli said suddenly.

"What?" Tára asked feeling a little out to sea.

"I mean no disrespect m'lady but we have only been here one day and the man finds you and brings you to us."

"It was more like an accident that we met." Tára said, not liking where the conversation was going.

"Oh? And how is that?" the dwarf asked, a hint if mischief in his voice.

"We accidentally bumped into each other last night. I nearly fell over but Boromir caught me to keep me from falling."

Gimli chuckled. "Quite a first impression, eh?"

"I can assure you that his second impression was a little better." Tára instantly grew red at her words, realizing that she had added fuel to the dwarf's fire.

"I'm sure it was m'lady." Gimli burst into full-blown laughter as Tára stood helplessly by. Looking around the camp, Tára spotted a small hand waving her over. She excused herself from the dwarf and headed over to her summoner. Upon getting closer, she realized that it was Pippin waving to her. Merry sat beside his cousin, patting the ground for Tára to sit with them.

"How are you Miss Tára?" Pippin asked, smiling widely.

"I am doing fine, you?"

"As well as could be expected, though this elven food doesn't seem to agree with me."

"Pippin! That isn't something you tell a lady!" Merry threw a handful of grass at his cousin, who was vainly trying to defend himself.

"She asked how I was doing, I couldn't lie!" Pippin squealed.

Tára laughed at the hobbits' antics. "You two remind me of two of my cousins."

"Really? Though I doubt that they are as handsome or as smart as we are, are they?" Pippin puffed out his chest, earning him another handful of grass from Merry.

"Actually, they are both only five years old, so no they are not as handsome as you two." Tára could not help but laugh at the triumphant look that graced Pippin's face and the confused one that quickly followed.

"I thank you for your hospitality, but I think it wise that I let you all return to your rest." With those words, Tára stood and exited the fellowship's camp.

* * *

Boromir paced the soft grass in the clearing he had found. Aragorn was right though Boromir was loath to admit it. His ire at the Ranger was nearly matched by his feeling of self-disgust. He always saw the folly of his strong emotions after the fact that they had already been exhibited. Taking a deep breath, Boromir mentally scolded himself to stop his dismal thinking. Looking around, Boromir spotted a small reflecting pool. The man walked over, sitting by the pool's edge. His reflection looked back at him as clearly, as if he were looking into an expensive mirror. He looked tired and weary, very different from when he had left Rivendell. The sound of a twig snapping underfoot jerked Boromir out of his reverie. He stood, watching the path. A moment later, Tára came into the clearing; she obviously had not seen the man at first for when he spoke she stopped with a startled look on her face.

"I am sorry; I did not mean to frighten you."

"It is alright, I was just passing through." Tára said, starting to walk again.

"No, please. Come sit with me for a while?" Boromir looked at Tára hopefully, ignoring Aragorn's warning. He could see that the young woman was reluctant but she came and sat by the pool anyway.

"I am sorry that I left you, my state of mind was not really the best for civil conversation."

"Oh," Tára said quietly, not daring to ask what had caused Boromir's departure.

The pair sat in silence for a while, though neither of them made a move to converse. Tára finally decided to break the silence.

"I know who you are but I don't know much about your life. What is your family like?"

Boromir looked at Tára for a moment then smiled. "Well, as you know, my father is the ruling Steward of the kingdom of Gondor. He is a great man; my goal is to one day rule with the same power and authority."

Tára inwardly cringed, her recollection of what she had read about Boromir's father floating through her head. Denethor would come to ruin sooner rather than later. Tára pushed those thoughts away and listened intently to Boromir.

"My brother and I grew up in the in the great halls of Minas Tirith. Ever would we get into trouble. Our mother though, was always there to set us straight or chastise us for our wrong doings. She was…" Boromir stopped and swallowed. This conversation brought back one of the most unpleasant memories of his childhood. He could still see his mother lying still and cold in the houses of healing. Faramir, only five at the time, had wept for hours. His nurse could only hold the young boy helplessly. Even at that tender age, Faramir had possessed wisdom and understanding beyond his years. His tender grieving heart had taken years to heal. Denethor had seen Faramir's grieving as weakness and had poured all his energy into molding and shaping Boromir. Boromir had never been comfortable with the preferential treatment he received but whenever he would mention it to his father, Denethor would dismiss Boromir's protests with a wave of the hand. Such was life when one's father saw to the ruling of a kingdom.

"Boromir?" Tára looked at the man questioningly. Boromir's hands were clenched into fists.

"Our mother died when Faramir and I were young."

"I'm sorry." Tára said quietly, wishing that she had thought through her question better. She always seemed to bring up painful memories for people at the most inopportune times. Boromir allayed Tára's fear of being inconsiderate by continuing to talk.

"Faramir helped me retake Osgiliath, a feat not easily done. Faramir is captain of the rangers of Ithilien. His men are the most loyal I have ever seen though he commands them with but a soft spoken word."

"He sounds like a powerful and wise man."

"He is, though my father does not give him the credit he deserves. Faramir even offered to go to Rivendell in my place so that I could be of more use to Gondor but my father seemed to not even hear Faramir's offer, sending me instead." These last words were said with bitterness flavoring them.

"Your brother will be given the honor that he is due in time. Such a man does not go unnoticed."

Boromir nodded. "He will be grieved to hear of Mithrandir's death. Faramir was a faithful student of the wizard whenever he came into our city." Boromir looked away, an almost angry glint in his eye. "These days are evil from dawn til dusk."

Tára looked into the man's eyes to see grief and anger burning together.

"I assure you, Boromir, that all will work out in due time." A dark thought entered Tára's mind, robbing her of her peace that she had seemed to find earlier.

Before standing, Tára squeezed Boromir's shoulder. The man stood reluctantly, watching Tára walk away.

* * *

Against her will, tears began to form in Tára's eyes. Though she had only known the man for a matter of hours, the thought of his death seemed to stab Tára's heart. How could she befriend him when he would only be taken away? Leading the man on would only be cruel. Once he left the borders of these woods, Tára would not see him again.

Tára walked for some time trying to sort out her thoughts. When coming upon the Fellowships camp, Tára deliberately turned in the opposite direction. It seemed like she had been walking for hours when she stopped in a shady glade. Immediately, Tára knew that she was not alone. Turning to her right, Tára faced Galadriel and Celeborn.

"My lord and lady, I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude."

"You are not intruding, child. We were just enjoying the afternoon." Celeborn smiled at Tára, alleviating some of her tension. The elven lord motioned for Tára to come and sit before them. Once she was settled, Galadriel leveled her piercing gaze at Tára.

"What is troubling you?" Galadriel asked. The question seemed to echo inside Tára's head, sending chills down her spine.

"I… how would you counsel someone who distances themselves from a person because they are afraid that their involvement will only lead to more pain when they are to part ways? Would it not be better to spare that person the hurt of separation?"

"And leave that person alone when they do need you?" Celeborn asked pointedly.

"But wouldn't it be better if the one person caused themselves a little hurt by not pursuing a friendship to save the heart of the other?" Tára looked between the two elves searchingly.

"What salvation is there when you are alone?" Galadriel asked. The question found its mark, causing Tára to look away.

"The greatest gift you can give someone is your time and love. Whatever pain separation causes is far outweighed by the thought that they are still loved and the memories they share with you."

Celeborn looked at his wife, nodding his agreement. Galadriel spoke again but Tára could not see the elf visibly speaking. The elven lady stared at Tára without wavering.

_If you care for the gondorian, you should not drive him away. You have glimpsed his heart, as I have and have seen the seeds of dissension sown. Though I fear he will not alter his course, strive to bring the gondorian in unity to the fellowship. Be honest to yourself and to the man, for dishonesty will only sow strife._

_Is there any hope then?_ Tára asked

_You were sent here for a purpose, child. You must learn what that purpose is by learning the ways of this earth._

_How?_

_By training! Growing strong! Be ready to change. Your purpose extends beyond these borders; will you find it?_

Galadriel looked at Tára, challenging the young woman with her gaze.

_I will find my purpose._

All fell silent. Celeborn and Galadriel looked at Tára kindly, though a shadow seemed to pass over Galadriel's eyes.

"Thank you for your wise counsel on my insignificant matter." Tára said quietly, rising to her feet.

"No matter of the heart is insignificant." Celeborn said.

"Again, thank you." Tára nodded respectfully to the two elves. As Tára turned away, Galadriel spoke.

"Legolas rightly marveled about your name, Tára."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Tárareturned to her room to find an outfit lying on her bed. A piece of parchment was besides the clothing.

Legoelen will direct you to the practice field.

_The practice field?_

Táralaid the parchment down and looked at the clothes.

Unfolding the clothes, Tára inspected the garments. There was a pair of grey leggings, a green tunic, soft leather bodice, and belt. A pair of leather boots sat at the foot of the bed.

Tárachanged quickly and pulled her hair into a thick ponytail. She was barely finished when Legoelen materialized behind her.

"The Lady Galadriel wishes me to show you to the practice field."

Táranodded at the elf and followed her out the door.

The practice field was not really a field but a large circle of grass free of trees. The canopy of the forest covered the field almost completely reminding Táraof the dome of her family's house. Two figures stood on the green conversing.

"Hail!" Legoelen called out. The two people turned toward the elf's voice. Tárafelt suddenly bashful as the pair made their way toward her and Legoelen. Nóla's shyness turned to embarrassment when she recognized the pair walking towards her. Sooner then she would have liked, Legolas and Aragorn stood before Nóla.

"Hail Nóla." Legolas said smiling. Aragorn looked at the elf then smiled at Nóla.

"You have come quickly. If I were in your place, I would have weighed the invitation carefully." Aragorn said a small glint in his eye.

Táralooked around her realizing that Legoelen was gone. Her attention was drawn back to the green before her when Aragorn spoke.

"Now we begin."

The Ranger threw a scabbard at Tárathat she barely caught.

"I must warn you Nóla. Aragorn was given a special order to teach you as much as possible in a short amount of time. I doubt he will show any deference to your gender." Legolas said.

Táracould have laughed if not for her confusion and the serious in the elven prince's eyes. Tárapulled the weapon out of its scabbard, surprised at how light it felt. Legolas ushered Táraout into the middle of the field facing Aragorn.

"I will show you forms and patterns of attack. Copy them to the best of your ability." The ranger showed Tárahow to hold her sword correctly, as he spoke. Before she knew it, Aragorn was executing forms and patterns for Tárato follow. Tárawas soon sweating.

Suddenly, Aragorn turned on Nóla, swinging his blade towards her shoulder. She immediately brought her sword up and blocked the blow as best as she could. The sword was wrenched from Nóla's hands, sending painful vibrations up her arms. Aragorn looked past Táraand gave Legolas a surprised look.

"Very good Nóla, most beginners, especially when they are tired, do not react as quickly as you did." Legolas said from a few feet away.

"Well, when you have an ornery brother, one learns to think fast." Tárasaid, panting from the adrenaline rush.

Legolas grinned at Aragorn who raised an eyebrow and shrugged, though Táracould tell that the ranger was suppressing a smile. Legolas retrieved Nóla's sword, handing it to her with an encouraging look.

"Again."

The single word has not left Aragorn's mouth when he began executing the forms again. This time, Legolas would step in and correct Táraif she was off. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin walked onto this sight.

The trio stood, transfixed by the scene. Tárastood next to Aragorn copying everything he did. Legolas looked over at the newcomers and smiled though he did not invite them any closer. Pippin started to voice his opinion but Merry silenced his cousin with a hand over his mouth. Tárahad not noticed them; her only thought was to keep up with Aragorn.

Suddenly, Aragorn swept his blade upward towards Nóla's face. The clash of steel on steel made the hobbits jump. Boromir stood still, morbidly curious but slightly alarmed at the strength of Aragorn's blow.

Táraagain had barely enough time to react. This time, Aragorn did not stop at the single blow. The Ranger kept swinging and driving at Nóla, leaving no time for her to attempt any attack of her own. Nóla's hands felt as if they were going to fall off and her breath came in short bursts.

Sparks flew and Tárafelt a sharp pain in her wrist as Aragorn twisted her sword out of her grasp. The force of the blow threw Táraoff balance, sending her to the ground, landing roughly on her seat. Aragorn came forward and pointed the tip of his sword at Nóla's heaving chest.

"You did very well m'lady but if you had been an enemy…" the ranger did not get to finish his sentence. He had not reckoned on Táratrying to fight still. She hooked her feet around one of Aragorn's legs, sending the man sprawling on the ground. Tárascrambled to her feet, her limbs shaking.

The hobbits cheered when Tárafound the hilt of her sword in the grass.

"Look out! He's…" Pippin's cry was too late for Tárato hear.

Tárafound herself lying on her stomach, gasping for breath. She rolled over to look into the impassive face of Aragorn. A roguish grin spread across the man's face when Tárarolled her eyes.

"As I was saying earlier, if you had been an enemy, you would have been dead."

Tárasuddenly became aware of booing and hissing coming from the opposite end if the field. Merry and Pippin stood waving their arms and stamping their feet, obviously upset at Nóla's loss. Two pairs of boot came and stood by Nóla's head. A pair of strong arms reached down and helped her stand. Nóla's arms and legs felt like jelly. Legolas handed Táraa cup of water, which she drank greedily.

"That was an interesting duel. I am surprised a little bird like you could hold out against Aragorn."

Táralooked up at the person speaking, realizing that it was Boromir. He still had an arm around Nóla's waist that she would have shrugged off if she had trusted her legs to hold her.

"I agree with Boromir." Legolas said. "Your fighting style is, of course, only a few hours old but you showed the ability to improvise in an otherwise inescapable position."

"Aye, she has promise." Aragorn said sheathing his sword. "I've forgotten how enjoyable it is to teach swordplay."

"It is only because you won, Strider." Merry piped up, earning himself a playful cuff on the head.

"Eat some food Nóla, for Aragorn will want to train for the rest of the afternoon." Legolas said handing Táraa piece of fruit and some cheese.

"May we stay and watch? Please?" Pippin asked, looking to Aragorn then Nóla.

"If it is alright with the lady," Aragorn said. Pippin looked pleadingly at Nóla.

"Oh, alright. But please no pointers or cheering."

Merry and Pippin looked a little disappointed at the conditions of their stay but held their peace.

"You may cheer if I land a blow on Aragorn," Tárasaid relenting some. "Otherwise, nothing else."

"Hurrah! Hurry and eat!"

Tárarolled her eyes and finished her piece of fruit. Aragorn handed Táraher sword and walked out to the middle of the green.

"I will now show you the parrying stances. Watch closely."

Aragorn again launched into the stances, explaining against what kinds of attack the stance was most effective. Legolas again corrected Táraas she followed the Ranger's lead.

"Slowly now, I want you to parry my blows."

Aragorn slowly, exaggerating his movements, swung his sword towards Tárato parry. They continued for a while at that slow pace then Aragorn began to speed up, still doing the same attacks. Soon Nóla's muscles took over, leaving her thoughts to wander.

Boromir stood watching the deadly dance, his eyes never leaving Nóla. Táraalso noticed that Frodo, Sam, and Gimli had joined her small audience. Scanning the sidle line again, Boromir's eyes met Nóla's, causing a wave of self-consciousness to rush through her.

Aragorn must have sensed the change in Nóla, for he launched into one of his surprise attacks. The man's blows were faster and stronger than those before. Táraparried some of the attacks but most of the blows she dodged.

All of a sudden, the world went silent. Táralooked back at Aragorn, wondering why he was moving so slowly. The ranger swung towards Nóla's head but Táraparried and ducked, slapping the flat edge of her sword against Aragorn's exposed side.

"Ha!" Tárayelled in triumph.

The ranger was so stunned that Táracould have laughed at the look of surprise on the man's face. The look that followed the one of surprise sent a wave of fear through Nóla. A cutthroat gleam could be seen in Aragorn's eyes. Tárayelped, as Aragorn became a flurry of steel and limbs. Táraparried and dodged as fast as she could.

The hobbits must have forgotten that they were not supposed to cheer, for they had Gimli and Boromir encouraging Táraenthusiastically.

Aragorn continued to rain blows down on Nóla. She parried a blow that was aimed for her chest, Aragorn's blade sliding against Nóla's sword. Aragorn's face was only inches from her own.

"You are doing well." The ranger said, smirking slightly as he began to push against Nóla, bending her backwards.

Boo's and hisses came from the hobbits who noticed Nóla's disadvantage in height.

Táraplanted one of her feet into Aragorn's stomach and pushed with all her might. The action was her undoing though for Aragorn took hold of Nóla's leg, twisting the limb around. Táraagain found herself on her stomach. She rolled over slowly, tasting blood. Cold steel pressed lightly against Nóla's throat.

"Do you yield?"

Táralooked up into the face of Aragorn. "I yield." She answered, a small trickle of blood running down her chin. Aragorn's demeanor instantly changed.

"You are hurt; forgive me." The ranger knelt down, telling Tárato open her mouth. "The next time you fall, try not to bite your lip."

Legolas knelt beside Nóla, giving her a cool cloth and another cup of water.

"Do you wish to continue? I care not either way." Aragorn said, standing up. The other spectators now moved in to circle Nóla.

"I think I will call it a day." Tárasaid, exhausted.

"That was marvelous! If you could have only seen the duel from our point of view!" Pippin crowed.

"That smack you gave Strider was brilliant!" Merry intoned.

"You did well." Frodo said quietly.

"Very good." Sam added, though he looked away bashfully.

Táralooked up at the more experienced swordsmen and shrugged. The hobbits seemed to think that if anyone was better than they in any practice, it was flawless.

"Let's get you up m'lady." Gimli rumbled. The dwarf took hold of one of Nóla's arms. Legolas took the other. Once Tárawas upright the two let go. One step forward though, caused Nóla's knees to buckle. Legolas caught her around the waist and lifted her upright again.

"I'm sorry," Tárasaid, her face turning red. "I am usually not this weak."

Legolas looked down at Nóla, smiling slightly. "Actually, you are quite strong, Nóla. Only a few beginners have walked away from sparing with Aragorn conscious."

"Let's get her back to our camp and get some food into her. I've never faced a problem that a good meal couldn't fix." A small voiced piped next to Nóla's elbow. Táralooked down to her left to find that Merry and Pippin walked beside her.

"That actually sounds very good." Tárasaid, looking at the two young hobbits. Merry and Pippin looked as if they had been handed the world.

Táradid not remember the walk to the practice field being so long. Soon she was leaning heavily against Legolas, her arms and legs feeling like lead. Tárastumbled on a root of a tree, nearly falling if it had not been for Legolas scooping her into his arms.

"Thank you." Tárasaid, leaning her head against the elf's shoulder.

Before anyone knew it, Tárawas fast asleep.

* * *

_What is that noise? Water?_

Táraopened her eyes, squinting at the light. She sat up slowly, stretching her stiff muscles. Leaning over, Táracaught sight of herself in the mirror and cringed. She looked terrible.

She was still wearing her clothes from the day before, though someone had the presence of mind to remove Nóla's boots before putting her to bed.

Legoelen breezed through the doorway carrying a steaming pot of water.

"Good morning, Nóla." The elf said, disappearing behind a dressing screen. The noise that had woken Tárasounded from behind the screen. Legoelen reappeared shortly.

"My cousin brought you here yesterday at eventide as sound asleep as a babe."

"Legolas carried me all the way here? I don't even remember that."

"You were very tired." The elf maid said matter of factly. "I have prepared a bath for you. The water has been boiled with healing herbs to soothe your aching muscles."

"Thank you." Tárasaid, getting out of bed slowly. The idea of a bath motivated her to undress quickly and sink into the warm tub behind the dressing screen.

"I have laid out clothes for you." Legoelen spoke from the other side of the screen. "You have also been invited to breakfast with the fellowship. They said for you to come whenever you are ready."

"Thank you." Táracalled as Legoelen left the pavilion.

Tárafinished her bath, feeling better by the minute. She found that her dirty clothes had been taken away. The clothes that Legoelen had laid out were almost identical to the outfit Tárahad worn the day before except for the colors.

Táradressed then dried her hair as much as possible, finally just putting it up into a ponytail.

The morning was beautiful. Dew dripped from the petals of flowers and from the golden leaves above. Somewhere in the wood, an elf was singing. The smell of roasting meat wafted towards Nóla, making her mouth water. The lodgings of the fellowship soon came into view. Upon spotting Nóla, Merry and Pippin ran up to her, taking her by the hands.

"We thought you would never come! It is nearly nine in the morning and we haven't even had breakfast!" Pippin said looking genuinely distraught.

"I'm sorry if I kept you all waiting."

"It is alright m'lady." Gimli said waving the two hobbits away from Nóla.

"I've never seen someone sleep so soundly, not even a stone." The dwarf chuckled at his joke, though Táraonly smiled.

Frodo and Sam exchanged greetings but held back from the general conversation.

"How do your arms feel?" Boromir asked when he was able to get close to Nóla.

"They are a little stiff but I am doing better." Tárasaid, sitting down on the soft grass.

"That is good. Usually the second day of training is the worst, though I think you will do well. I wish I had learned as fast as you seem to do. Your reflexes are uncommonly fast."

Tárasmiled at the man's veiled complement.

"The challenge will be if she can still lift a sword today."

Aragorn stood before Nóla, offering her a plate piled with steaming food.

"I want you to eat everything on this plate. If you are to learn quickly, you must keep up your strength."

Táratook the plate and began eating. Beside her, Boromir chuckled.

"What is so funny?" Táraasked, looking at the man beside her.

"I have only ever seen so much food on a plate and the plate belonged to Gimli."

"That is not really a thing that is commonly said to a lady. I was told to eat this."

"I am sorry, the similarities caught me unawares." The look on Boromir's face said that he was not the least bit repentant.

After the first few bites of food, Tárarealized that she was starving. She quickly finished the plate and asked for more. Merry and Pippin raised their eyebrows at each other as Tárafinished her second helping of venison and biscuits. Boromir wordlessly handed Táraa cup of water that he refilled twice. A small giggle escaped Pippin that ended in a pained squeak. Tárafinally realized that the men around her had been silent the whole time she had been eating.

"I guess you didn't think that I would finish the first plate?" Tárasaid quietly.

All four hobbits shook their heads. Aragorn seemed to be concentrating particularly hard on the remaining piece of venison on his plate. One look at Boromir told Tárathat he was barely holding back laughter.

"The meal was very…" a large hiccup interrupted Nóla. She smiled and continued. "The meal was very good."

Boromir could contain himself no longer. He shook his head and laughed at Nóla, who had been attacked by more hiccups. The man handed Táraanother cup of water, trying to control his laughter.

"Hmm… well master Aragorn, what is our plan for today?" Táraasked, trying to salvage some dignity.

"If you are finished, we will head out to the practice field. You left your sword there but Merry noticed and brought it here." Aragorn handed Tárathe sheathed sword.

"My sword? I thought that it was just for practice?" Táralooked at the ranger, puzzled.

"Look here." Legolas came over and pointed to runes branded into the leather of the scabbard. "Nóla, may your blade continually shine."

"It really is mine?" a shiver of excitement ran down Nóla's spine.

"The Lady Galadriel delivered it herself, though she was gone when you arrived."

_I must find a way to thank her._

At the practice field, Aragorn showed Tárahow to care for her sword. It was an easy routine that Táraremembered without difficulty.

The sword was beautiful in itself. The blade was curved upward slightly giving the weapon an even deadlier look. The hilt was covered in red leather with an elegant pommel balancing the weapon. A vine like filigree was etched into the metal of the blade. Overall, the effect was stunning.

Aragorn started out by reviewing everything that he had shown Tárabefore. Tárasurprised herself at how well she remembered the stance and forms. Aragorn stopped suddenly.

"Today, Legolas has asked to spar with you before I do, so I will be watching from the side for a while."

Legolas came forward, reaching behind himself to unsheathe his twin blades. Táraknew a moment of panic when the elf started to circle around her.

_Just remember what you have learned._ Tárainwardly coached herself.

The elf lunged forward, swinging both knives in unison. Tárablocked the attack though was pushed off balance by the force of the blow. Legolas took advantage of Nóla's discrepancy, launching another attack. Tárawas able to parry the blows but at the cost of losing ground.

The pair circled and darted at each other for what seemed like hours to Nóla, though it was only a few minutes. Legolas was toying with her shamelessly. Legolas suddenly whirled behind Nóla, catching the band that held Nóla's hair with one of his knives. The elf came back around quickly, holding the cut band and a lock of Nóla's hair. Merry and Pippin booed from the sidelines.

Something seemed to snap inside Táraas rush of energy flowed through her.

"I am afraid that was the wrong move friend." Aragorn said calmly from the sidelines. The man spoke too late for the elf for Táralaunched herself at Legolas with all her might.

Again, the world went silent. Táracould almost visibly see the few weak points in the elf's defenses. Táramoved as effortlessly as she ever had, ducking, and weaving in and out of Legolas' counter attacks. They were the only two people that existed, locked in a dance of death.

Aragorn stood transfixed. This girl was holding her own against an elf that had millennia to train. It was an awesome, frightening sight. The two wove in and out of each other, swirling together in a cyclone of steel. Legolas' eyes burned fiercely, his powerful attacks being deflected as if they were nothing. Tárafought, as one possessed, her hair swirling about her face giving her a feral look. Her body twisted and turned, completing patterns that had taken Aragorn months to master. Aragorn looked around, noticing that a few elves had shown up, the sounds of the fight piquing their curiosity. The ranger was able to pick up bits if the elves conversations.

"Who is this woman?"

"How did she learn to fight like that?"

Legolas seemed to be losing his strength. Sweat beaded on the elf's forehead and his knuckles turned white. Never had an opponent attacked him with such sustained ferocity.

Tárawatched the elf before her. Legolas' foot kept inching closer to an exposed root of a tree.

_So close…_

Táralunged at Legolas, her sword sparking against his knives. Legolas' heel caught on the exposed root but the elf's body kept moving backwards. Nóla's attack worked. The elf landed surprisingly hard on the turf, all breath leaving him. Tárawas upon him in an instant. Legolas rolled to the side as Nóla's sword whizzed past his ear. The elf rolled to his hands and knees but stopped halfway. Cold steel pressed against Legolas' throat. Tárastood before him, her sword unwavering.

"Do you yield?" Táraasked hr voice husky with strain. To Legolas, Táralooked like a wild animal. Her hair was loose about her face and her eyes burned with an unearthly ferocity.

"I yield." Legolas said quietly.

It was as if her ears became unplugged, for the sounds of people cheering rushed into Nóla's ears with surprising power. Looking around, Tárasaw that the field was circled by many elves. Several were clapping and some were even vocally praising Nóla's victory. Lowering her sword, Táraoffered her free hand to Legolas. In a surprising gesture, Legolas remained on one knee, pressing Nóla's hand to his lips then stood, putting an arm around her shoulders.

On the sidelines, Merry and Pippin cheered uncontrollably. Aragorn looked surprised at the victory, clapping slowly. Boromir looked at Tárain wonder, admiration unhidden in his eyes. Slowly, victor and defeated walked towards the group.

"That was amazing, you were spectacular!" Boromir said, laying a hand on Nóla's shoulder.

"I have never in all my years seen someone take so quickly to swordplay." Aragorn said, smiling slightly.

"It was strange really. Legolas seemed to be extremely slow." Tárasaid, earning a guffaw from Gimli.

"Strange indeed." Aragorn said, speaking to no one in particular.

Tárareached up with her free hand and felt the short piece of hair that Legolas had cut.

"Aren't you going to sheath your sword?" Gimli asked a mischievous grin on his face.

"Oh, right." Tárarealized that her right hand felt as if it were locked in place. She tried to relax her grip, but her fingers would not budge.

"I can't let go." Tárasaid looking around for help. Boromir walked over and put his hand over Nóla's hand.

"Faramir had this happen to him several times while sparing. This might hurt."

Boromir pried back Nóla's fingers, causing her knuckles to crack and pop painfully. Once her sword was free, Boromir straightened Nóla's fingers massaging them lightly. Nóla's hand began to tingle and itch.

"It feels as if I have slept on my hand all night."

"An odd sensation," Boromir said still rubbing Nóla's hand.

Táralooked over at Legolas, noticing a small bruise on the elf's cheekbone.

"Legolas, did I do that to you?" Táraasked.

"In a way, yes. When I blocked one of your attacks, I butted myself in the face with the hilt of one of my knives." Gimli roared in laughter at the elf's statement, though Legolas did not seem to mind.

"I have never seen a mortal fight with such ferocity. The Valar have blessed you, Nóla."

"You don't care that you were beaten by me?" Táraasked, thinking that the men of her day would rather die than admit that a female bested them.

"It is an honor to be beaten by a worthy opponent, male or female." Legolas said looking at Tárawith a bemused look on his face. Táralooked away, more than a little embarrassed at the elf's complement.

"Flex your hand for me."

Tárasnapped back to attention and did what Boromir had asked. Her hand crackled and popped but Tárafelt that it was better then before.

"Thank you, Boromir." Tára said, smiling at the man.

"You are most welcome." Boromir returned her smile, causing a strange emotion to well in Nóla's chest.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Three weeks passed in the same fashion for Tára . She would spar in the morning with Aragorn, Legolas, or Boromir. If she had been a fearsome opponent at the beginning of her training, Tára was even more so now. As if by its own volition, the powerful feeling that Tára had experienced in her early training seemed to grow and strengthen every time that she wielded her sword. Whenever Tára would try to explain the feeling to her challenger, they would only shake their heads and nurse their bruises.

Tára also spent a great amount of time with the fellowship. The younger hobbits seemed to latch onto Tára , treating her as they would a sister. Legolas as well seemed attached to Tára , lending his advice to her as an older brother would. Boromir though, seemed to want to get to know Tára on a different level. There always seemed to be a hidden flirtation behind every comment that he said. None were inappropriate, but Tára found it an exhausting task to protect her heart from the man's flattering words. Tára tried her best to befriend him apart from personal attraction, but Boromir seemed oblivious to her subtle hints. Late nights would find Tára second-guessing her decision to follow the Lady Galadriel's advice. Thoughts along these lines accompanied Tára to the practice field. Today she would fight, of all people, Boromir. She had beaten the man several times already. He was a fine swordsman though, with a fascinating fighting style.

Tára came into the clearing of the practice field. Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin stood on the sidelines, watching for Tára . Frodo and Sam had slowly stopped coming to watch the matches. Tára could not blame them; Frodo had enough on his mind without having to make social interactions. Tára could see that Boromir was already out on the field warming up.

"Good morning everyone!" Tára called.

Boromir turned at the sound of Tára 's voice. He could never help the surprise he felt whenever he looked at the young woman.

Whatever baby fat residing on Tára was now gone, due to her consistent training. There always seemed to be a glow of health about her. Tára reminded Boromir of a cat, lithe, graceful, and deadly. However the combination was mixed, Boromir could barely keep a sensible thought in his head when Tára was around.

"Good morning Tára Ohtar." Legolas said, calling Tára the full name he had given her.

That was but one bur under Boromir's saddle, though a most irritating one. The elf seemed to confide effortlessly in Tára and her in him. If Legolas was not with Gimli or the elves of Lórien, he was with Tára . Legolas spent much of his time teaching Tára how to speak, read, and write elvish. Even though Tára was practically fluent, the elf still kept company with her. Even now as Boromir watched, Legolas was giving Tára a hug. The man though, failed to see the sibling-like quality of the action.

"Boromir, are you ready?" Tára 's voice snapped Boromir from his moody thoughts.

"Only if you are." Boromir replied, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Tára took a few minutes to warm up, and then walked out to the center of the practice field. Boromir stretched out his sword, touching his blade to Tára 's. The man fell back quickly, waiting to see if Tára would be the first to strike.

Tára took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Something was bothering Boromir, she could almost feel the vibrations coming from his body. Her eyes snapped open as Boromir lunged at her. A feeling of calm rushed through Tára 's body, colors and shadows seemed to become sharper and brighter. Every movement seemed as if it were slowed down. Numerous times, Tára could have ended the fight; she chose to block and parry instead.

Boromir could tell that Tára was not trying to attack him. That fact alone seemed to irritate the man to no end. Boromir decided that a little foul play was needed.

"Attack me woman!" he whispered fiercely to Tára when they were close enough to hear each other. Tára spun away from Boromir, creating a large space between them.

"I will not be goaded, gondorian."

The tone in Tára 's voice silenced all of the spectators on the edge of the field. The icy edge made the young hobbits unconsciously shudder. Legolas looked to Aragorn, who had a strange expression on his face. The elf looked back out to the field, an uneasiness settling in his chest.

Tára spun at Boromir again, though the man aimed a strike at her legs, throwing Tára off balance. Boromir took his chance, wrapping his arm around the young woman holding Tára 's back against himself.

"Is there a reason that you do not attack me Tára , or am I not as good a fighter as the elf? You seem very close to him." Boromir breathed maliciously into Tára 's ear.

Tára felt rage boil up inside of her, Boromir's jibes clearly laying out what was on his mind. Tára took hold of the arm around her shoulders, using Boromir's position against him. Lifting her feet off the ground, Tára leaned forward. When her feet met the ground again, Boromir was rolling away from Tára , scrambling to his feet. The man barely had time to register that Tára had flipped him over her back before she stood before him, her sword pointing at Boromir's chest.

"You know nothing of what you speak." Tára said rage undisguised in her voice.

"Actually I think I do know what…"

Tára swung her sword without warning, striking and twisting Boromir's sword out of his grasp. Boromir though stepped quickly around Tára , spinning her around to face him. Tára tried to move, but her arms were held more tightly than before.

"Let go of me! You are not fighting fairly!"

"I will let go, after this," Boromir took hold of Tára 's face in his hands and kissed her shamelessly. Tára could barely keep her rage tempered. On the sidelines, Legolas could barely do the same thing. The elf's face had taken on the look of a protective older brother. Aragorn put out his arm to stop the elf, who had taken a few steps forward.

"Wait _mellonin_." The ranger said quietly to Legolas. The elf uncharacteristically let out a shot of breath between his teeth but stayed in place. Tára on the other hand was quickly working on a way to escape Boromir's embrace.

Deftly, Tára swung her sword around in her hand so that the hilt was pointing towards Boromir's side. In one quick movement, Tára sent a short jab into the man's ribs. Boromir's hands fell away from Tára 's face as he staggered backwards. The man looked around frantically for his sword. He found the weapon at the feet of Tára , who looked the most fearsome as Boromir had ever seen her. As soon as his hand was on the hilt of the sword, Tára was upon him. Never had she felt so full of rage.

"_Ed' i' ear ar' elenea!_" Aragorn said quietly. Boromir did not stand a chance.

Tára swung her sword with all her might, her anger seeming to double her strength. Sparks flew as her blade met Boromir's weapon. Legolas' eyes widened as a small shock wave of air rushed from the clash of blades. Boromir had no choice but to let go of his sword else the force of Tára 's blow break his hand. The weapon spun away from Boromir, imbedding itself in a young tree. Cold steel pressed suddenly on the man's neck.

"Do you yield?"

The voice that spoke to Boromir seemed to be another person. Boromir looked up as carefully as he dared. Tára did indeed stand before him; though the eyes that looked at Boromir were some of the most fierce he had ever seen. The expression on Tára 's face was of open anger. For a moment, Boromir thought that he saw the beginning of tears in the young woman's eyes. Guilt ripped through the man. Boromir realized that he had publicly shamed Tára , taking the liberty that he did.

"I yield… and I beg your forgiveness. I should not have treated you so shamefully." Boromir looked away from Tára , not being able to stand the look in her eyes.

"You are forgiven." Tára said, though the tone of her voice said otherwise. Tára sheathed her sword and walked to the sidelines. Legolas came to her side immediately, putting an arm protectively around her shoulders. The words that Aragorn spoke to Tára though shocked her.

"Boromir actually did me a favor, though it was not my method of choice."

"How is that?" Legolas asked quietly, not wanting the young hobbits overhearing. Aragorn switched to elvish so as not to further shame Boromir.

"Boromir fought unfairly. By distracting you and taking advantage of your size differences. You were able to-_ improvise_- and win." Aragorn smiled inwardly as he thought of Tára 's attacks. They were more of a bombardment of blows then true improvisation.

"I would like to spar with you now if you are up to it." Aragorn said now in westron. Tára only nodded not trusting her tongue yet. Aragorn walked out to the center of the field forcing Boromir to the sidelines. As the man had suspected, Legolas pulled Boromir into a small hollow away from prying eyes.

"That was an unnecessary action on your part my friend." Legolas said crossing his arms over his chest. Anger flared up again in Boromir's chest at the elf's rebuke.

"Why should you care? You have no chance with her for she is mortal." Boromir said with quiet vehemence. Legolas seemed to take a step back, visibly affronted.

"What are you talking about?" the elf asked, though the realization was already dawning on him.

"You spend so much time with her, giving her all your attention. You give her a false hope, a yearning for something she cannot attain. How can you make her choose when the choice is already made?"

"You love her." Legolas said his words more of a statement than a question. Boromir glared at the elf.

"Don't you?" the man asked, jealousy hot in his voice. To Boromir's rising anger, Legolas smiled faintly.

"Tára is like the sister that I never had. In that way, I love her. Nothing more, nothing less."

Mortified, Boromir looked away.

"I beg your pardon. I was grossly unfair."

"You have my pardon though your actions of late toward Tára have been more than a little unnecessary. It is a brother's duty to protect his sister and I plan to fulfill that duty. Even if it means that I defend her from a friend." Legolas leveled a piercing gaze at the Gondorian. Boromir nodded his head and looked away. Surprisingly, Legolas clapped a hand on Boromir's shoulder. The tone in the elf's voice though seemed to draw Boromir's eyes to the elf's like a magnet.

"I _will_ hold you accountable." With those words, Legolas walked away leaving Boromir in a stunned silence.

* * *

The morning and early afternoon passed quickly for those on the practice field. Tára sparred with Aragorn and Legolas multiple times, until finally Gimli challenged Tára to a duel. The dwarf's reasoning had been that he had tired of watching an elf and a man flounder about the field. With the disclaimer that he was better with a broad axe than a broad sword, Gimli launched into action.

Surprised, Tára found that Gimli was a challenging opponent. Being almost a head shorter than Tára , one would expect the dwarf to have the disadvantage but the stocky challenger was unnaturally quick. After several minutes of clips and dings to each other's limbs, Tára was finally able to throw Gimli off balance. The duel ended with Gimli on his back waving his arms and legs like an overturned turtle.

"You win, you win!" Gimli said gruffly.

"Honestly master dwarf, you caught me off guard. I had taken you for mostly an axe-man." Tára smiled down at Gimli in her most charming way, watching a pleased blush creep over the dwarf's already ruddy features.

"Mostly, now get me up!"

Tára took hold of both of Gimli's hands and heaved the dwarf to his feet. Legolas was openly laughing at Gimli from the sidelines. Aragorn wore a far away expression, his hands seeming to clap of their own accord. Boromir and the young hobbits had left a few hours earlier, though Tára had seen that Boromir had wanted to stay. Legolas' congratulations and ribbing of Gimli snapped Tára out of her observations.

"I congratulate you on your victory over a nearly worthy opponent." The elf's eyes glinted with long suppressed mischief.

"Nearly worthy is better than _un_worthy." Gimli retorted. Tára laughed at the pair, feeling privileged to be a part of the unlikely friendship.

"Tára ,"

The young woman spun around, almost forgetting that Aragorn was standing behind her. She looked at the man expectantly.

"The lady Galadriel told me to teach you the art of swordplay. I believe I have accomplished my task." Tára looked back at Legolas and Gimli. The pair nodded assent to Aragorn's statement.

"The lady Galadriel asked that you have an audience with her and her husband once your training was completed."

"I am done training?" Tára asked, a very young look of joy filling her face. The expression reminded the older trio of Tára 's youth, imbedding their affection for her a little more in their hearts.

"Yes you are done training. You have mastered things that took me many years to attain. You truly have a gift." Aragorn said, smiling at Tára . "Lady Galadriel and lord Celeborn await you, Tára Ohtar."

Aragorn's eyes shifted to something behind Tára . The young woman looked around, spotting Legoelen at the entrance of the field. With a gentle hand, Aragorn nudged Tára forward. Legoelen smiled at Tára and led her away from the practice field.

In little less than an hour, Tára found herself in the presence of Galadriel and Celeborn. She looked around the glittering _talan, _realizing that she had not really looked the first time she had been up the giant mallorn tree. The simple elegance of the architecture and artistry made Tára feel as clumsy as a block of wood.

"You have done well, Tára ."

Tára 's head snapped forward at the sound of the voice. Galadriel and Celeborn walked out onto the dais before Tára , sitting gracefully into their chairs.

"I thank you lord and lady, but why am I here?" Tára looked to the royal couple, the familiar feeling of uncertainty creeping over her heart.

"You are here because we have an errand to ask of you." Celeborn said regally.

"How do you know if I am the person for this errand? Apart from swordplay, I have no experience in…"

"I have seen by secret ways that you are the one we need." Galadriel interrupted Tára gently. "The task that we ask of you is only that of a messenger."

"We ask that you deliver a message to our kinsmen in the realm now called Mirkwood. A matter of some importance has come to our attention, though it is of a secret nature." Celeborn added cryptically.

Tára looked back and forth between the royal elves. Their prior warmth had seemed to vanish under their enigmatic requests. Tára could not help but ask her next question.

"Why, my lord and lady? You have known me for barely a month, I have done nothing to earn your trust other than abide by your advice. What have I to offer?" to Tára 's rising frustration, the two elves seemed not to hear her question.

"I believe that you thought once that you would have to find a way to thank me for my gift of a sword. Consider this errand a reimbursement for the boon we have bestowed on you." Galadriel's voice seemed to imply that Tára was paying for more than her sword.

Good sense urged Tára to comply with the lord and lady's request. What harm could she be in if she were just delivering a message.

"I will accept the responsibility you have asked of me."

"Very good. You will leave ten days from now. You will be summoned when the time comes." Celeborn said standing, effectively cutting off the meeting.

Tára headed for the stairs of the talan in a confused daze. The regal elves' behavior baffled her. Sighing, Tára started down the stairs. Halfway down the giant mallorn, a disturbing reality hit Tára . The fellowship would only be in Lothlórien for eight more days. The many pages of history that Tára had read by her father's side left no room for doubt that certain things would happen, things that could not be stopped, or hindered. The events of the day left Tára 's emotions in a jumbled heap, sudden fatigue stirring them mercilessly.

"I have only a short time left." Tára said to herself. An image of bright eyes stopped Tára in her tracks.

_Our lives seem to be divided into times of happiness and times of sorrow. Do not let your remaining days here be of the latter. Spend time with the fellowship and strengthen their hearts. A wise friend is a balm to a weary soul. Enjoy the rest of your days here, remembering that task that we have set before you._

Galadriel's eerie voice faded from Tára 's hearing, leaving her emotions more jumbled than before.

* * *

Someone had been in her room that much Tára knew. The book of elvish poetry she had been reading the night before had moved from its spot on the bed. Everything else though seemed to be in place.

A breeze wafted through the room, ruffling the sheer curtains at the far end of the pavilion. A tall figure was silhouetted against the dappled rays of the setting sun. Tára walked silently to the curtains, tentatively pulling the fabric back.

"Boromir?"

The man turned quickly, a look that Tára would call guilty, on his face.

"I beg your pardon. I was looking for you and ended up waiting here."

Tára raised an eyebrow at the man, moving to stand a proper distance away. Boromir began talking without preamble.

"I was looking for you to ask for your pardon one more time. I can barely face my comrades without remembering my shameful display this morning."

"I have already given my pardon, though if you need reassurance, you have it again." Tára was surprised at the sudden look of relief that washed over that man's features. The pair stood in a mildly friendly silence until Boromir spoke again.

"Aragorn has been talking of taking our leave soon. We are to meet with the lord and lady in one week. I have the feeling that we will be leaving soon thereafter."

"I know; I have heard him as well." Tára looked to Boromir. The man was looking at her with an odd expression.

"What will you do little bird?" Boromir asked suddenly. Tára looked away, frightened by the intensity of the gondorian's gaze.

"Lord Celeborn and lady Galadriel have asked me to deliver a message to their kinsmen in Mirkwood. After that, I do not know."

"If I had not pledged myself to this quest, I would spirit you away to my city. You could dwell in peace while this war rages- Why the uneasy look, little bird?" Boromir watched Tára with a bemused smile.

Tára looked away, trying her best to frame a sensitive reply.

"I thank you for your concern. You really are a true friend. Maybe one day I will visit Minas Tirith, though it will probably be later rather than sooner."

"A woman such as you should be cherished. It is a sign of the evil of the days that our women are forced to learn how to defend themselves."

Tára started to protest Boromir's statement but the man held up a hand.

"It grieves me that our ways will part and I fear that we will not see each other until the end of this quest. That fact alone brought me to you."

A warning bell sounded in Tára 's head though she let the man continue.

"I feel I must say this, to make my feelings known, though I leave the choice of how to take them at your feet." Boromir stepped a little closer to Tára and took her hand. Tára stiffened but relaxed when the man moved no further.

"I have come to realize that I care very deeply for you, Tára . I know that I have not been the most subtle in my actions but you became a part of my heart from the first time I met you. It is your choice to decide what your course of action might be but I assure you, after this quest I will be waiting for you."

Tára looked at the man before her in astonishment. Boromir's declaration of feelings for her touched her though it made what she had to say all the harder.

"I am honored that you feel this way, Boromir," Tára stopped momentarily, surprised at the thickness in her throat. "Though I am not sure that I can honestly return those feelings now." The words _or later_, seemed to echo cruelly in Tára 's thoughts.

The look on Boromir's face only changed slightly, his grip on Tára 's hand increasing.

"I do not ask that you rush your decision, though mine already stands. Do with it as you will." Boromir raised Tára's hand to his lips, brushing them gently across her skin. The man then let go of her hand, walking away from her without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Six days later, Tára sat with the fellowship in their pavilion, Boromir sitting next to her.

"Tomorrow we have an audience with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. If we are all in agreement, I propose that we leave the next day, though our course is not yet certain." Aragorn said suddenly. Some suggestions came from various members of the group but most agreed of the Ranger's plan.

Tára looked at Boromir. He had remained silent during the whole time that the rest of the fellowship had been talking. The man now stared at Frodo intently, a disturbingly unreadable look in his eyes. Tára knew all to well what was most likely filling the man's thoughts. The gloom that had been pushing in on Tára's thoughts now enveloped her completely.

"What of you, Tára? What will you do?"

The question snapped Tára back to the present. Surprisingly, it had been Frodo who had asked the question. Tára looked over at the hobbit, a small smile on her face. Frodo looked like he would rather be somewhere else but Tára could tell that he genuinely cared.

"Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have asked me to return a favor. I am to deliver a message for them to King Thranduil."

Legolas sat forward, looking at Tára intently.

"Did they give reason for the message? Is my father's realm in danger?" the elf asked.

"They gave no indicator as to what was contained in the message; all I know is that I was asked to deliver it. I can also take a message from you to your father if you would like?" Tára looked hopefully at her elven friend, wishing that she could somehow remove the shadow that had been in his eyes at the mention of his homeland.

"I will do that." Legolas looked at Tára and smiled. "When do you leave?"

"I leave in four days." Tára said quietly. Legolas nodded though a look of sadness came into his eyes. Beside her, Tára felt Boromir stiffen.

General talk floated around for a while until one by one, the members of the Fellowship retired for the night. Tára stood up to leave, walking to the edge of the pavilion. Boromir followed her to the darkness beyond.

"May I escort you to your lodgings?" the man asked hopefully from the darkness. Tára turned around, not surprised at his offer, for he had done so every night since declaring his feelings for her.

"I thank you for your offer but I do not think that would be wise."

Instead of looking put out, the man only smiled slightly, giving no evidence of the disappointment filling him.

"Then I bid you goodnight." Boromir took her hand, kissed it gently, and then turned away; seeming not to care that Aragorn and Legolas had witnessed the whole scene.

Tára sighed, watching the man walk away. Before she turned to go she saw Legolas say something to Aragorn then disappear into the trees. A little way from the pavilion, the elf appeared at Tára's side.

"You look troubled, what has your mind occupied so fully that you have said naught to me for nearly two days?" the elf asked, watching Tára as they walked.

"Boromir is on my mind." Tára said quietly, surprised that her voice sounded so sad.

"How so?" Legolas asked.

As if by their own volition, every feeling seemed to pour out of Tára, starting from Boromir's kiss, his declaration of love, and his waiting on her hand and foot whenever he was around her.

"We will not be together, I am certain of that and I have told him that several times, though he will not be dissuaded. I do care for him but not in the same respect as he professes for me. I know of nothing else that I can do without alienating him completely." Tára's frustration gave way to tears that she brushed away angrily.

"I know not how to council you in this matter, though if it is any conciliation, we will most likely be leaving this realm in less than three days. I cannot see how that can be any comfort but it may help." Unwittingly, Legolas had stumbled onto the heart of the matter.

"That is just it, you will be leaving, and things will be set into motion that cannot be altered. He will become another person to you all. His actions will be judged as noble by him only and then…" Tára stopped, her throat constricting with tears. Legolas stopped, putting his arms around Tára. The gesture broke the dam of Tára's resolve as she cried into the elf's chest. Legolas scooped the crying young woman into his arms, carrying her all the way to her pavilion. The elf sat her down at the threshold of the curtained dwelling.

"Will you be alright?" the elf asked tenderly, brushing the remaining tears away from Tára's face.

"Yes, I am sorry, I …"

"Think nothing of it, little one. Sleep well." Legolas squeezed Tára's shoulder slightly then turned away, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

Tára slept late into the morning, her mood from the night before unchanged. Rolling over, Tára noticed that the water clock just outside of her chamber showed that it was nearly the noon hour. If she did not get up soon, people would come looking for her and she did not feel up to their company. Tára dressed quickly, pulled her hair into a simple ponytail, and left the pavilion. Outside, a light rain had fallen during the night, leaving everything fresh and new.

_Tára, come._

The sound of Galadriel's voice echoed through Tára's head, startling her.

_To Caras Galadon._

Tára turned towards the direction where the great mallorn tree stood, altering her course quickly. She was soon at the feet of the winding stairs that led to the Lord and Lady. Tára started up the stairs as quickly as her legs would allow. When she reached the top, a strange sight met her. A great, golden, eagle stood before Galadriel and Celeborn.

"My lord and lady," Tára said, making her presence known.

"Tára, you have answered our summons quickly." Celeborn said, motioning Tára to stand before them.

"We have need of your services sooner than we have thought. Swiftwing," Galadriel said motioning towards the eagle, "has given us news that a large scouting party has left Dol Guldur. Though Thranduil may know of this threat, our message must be delivered before the scouting party can leave the borders of Mirkwood."

"My master Gwaihir was summoned by an unknown call to the Misty Mountains shortly before the host left that hill of sorcery." The eagle spoke to the elves, an angry glint in his eyes.

The eagle continued to speak to Galadriel and Celeborn, though Tára heard barely a thing. Swiftwing's voice was unlike anything that she had ever heard. The words were understandable but were tinged with the note of an eagle cry. Tára snapped back to reality when Celeborn spoke to her.

"You will need to leave as soon as you can make ready. Swiftwing will bear you to Thranduil and back. We have already sent supplies to your chamber."

"I, I will have to say goodbye to them, I need to." Tára said, the fact that she would probably not see any of the Fellowship again sinking in.

Galadriel smiled kindly at Tára. "Go now and say your goodbyes, for they will be grieved if you did not bid them farewell." Galadriel stopped speaking audibly, though Tára could still hear the Elvin lady's voice.

_Your friendship to them has not been in vain, for you were a balm to their weary souls. There is a purpose for everything. Do not grieve, for all will be together in the end._

"Swiftwing will bear you to the ground." Celeborn said.

Eagle and woman regarded each other for a moment then Swiftwing crouched down allowing Tára to climb onto his back. The eagle moved so lightly and gracefully that Tára hardly felt the sensation of flight. The eagle alighted deftly on the ground below, Tára slipping off Swiftwing's back as soon as the eagles feet touched the sod. She ran as fast as she could to her pavilion, willing herself to be strong.

An outfit of all black was laid out on her bed, along with her sword and a pack of provisions. Tára dressed quickly, pushing her anxiety aside. The last item of clothing was a black hooded cloak, folded neatly at the bottom of the pile. Tára swirled the velvety mass of fabric around her shoulders, clasping it at her neck. Tára turned to look at her reflection, startled at what she saw.

The black of her outfit made her skin look like ivory. Her eyes seemed stand out darkly in contrast with her skin. The clasp of her cloak was in the shape of a nightingale in flight.

The last item that Tára strapped on before leaving was her sword. The stray thought that the sword could actually be used for its intended purpose flitted through Tára's mind. Looking around the pavilion one last time, Tára grabbed her pack and went out.

Running again, Tára came to the Fellowship's camp. The pleasure on the faces before her caused a small twinge in her heart. Legolas was the first to notice that Tára was in traveling garb.

"You are leaving?" The elf said, his words more a statement then a question.

"I thought it was not for a few more days?" Pippin said, earning an elbow to the ribs from Merry.

Legolas came to his feet, as did Boromir along with the rest of the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin came forward first, embracing Tára together.

"We wish you well, and hope to see you soon." Merry said for the two of them.

"As do I." Tára said quietly.

Frodo and Sam repeated the same sentiments.

"My thoughts are with you, ring bearer." Tára whispered into Frodo's ear as he pulled away from the embrace. The hobbit smiled thankfully though Tára could see sadness in his eyes.

Gimli bowed and gave Tára's hand another whiskery kiss. Aragorn came next.

"Use your sword and skill wisely, for there may come a time where they will be needed." The ranger then did something that surprised Tára. The man wrapped his arms around her in a quick embrace. Pulling away, Aragorn smiled at Tára, a sad, knowing, look in his eyes.

"Stay safe, my little sister." Legolas said, hugging Tára and kissing her forehead.

"With all that is in my power, I will see you again, Legolas Thranduilion." Tára said in elvish. She then kissed the elf's cheek, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. The elf smiled encouragingly at Tára, stepping away. Boromir stepped forward, taking hold of Tára's elbow. He moved her to a place secluded from prying eyes. The rest of the Fellowship fell back though Legolas kept a steady watch on the trunk of the tree separating the pair from their view.

"I feel as if someone has stabbed my heart." Boromir said quietly. Tára looked at him, pity, and sadness filling her soul.

"I am as grieved at this parting as you are, though in a different way."

Boromir looked at Tára questioningly, a storm seeming to brew underneath his seemingly calm façade.

"Your friendship has meant more to me than you will know, and I want you to know that I do care for you, though I fear that it is not the way you would choose. I will miss you, Boromir." Tára started to walk away though Boromir caught her arm.

"Wait, please." The man looked at Tára pleadingly, pulling something off his finger. "This has been in my family for generations. It goes back as far as I know to the first stewards. I want you to have it, to remember my pledged feelings to you." Boromir now held out his hand, a ring on his open palm. Tára took it carefully, a strange feeling settling in her stomach. The ring was silver with the emblem of the Stewards set in ebony.

"It is simply called the ring of the Stewards." Boromir said quietly. "I hope to one day give it to my son and his afterwards."

The realization of what she held hit Tára. Her father had been looking for this ring. She moved to give the ring back to Boromir. The man only shook his head, folding Tára's fingers around the cool silver.

"I love you, Tára." Boromir said quietly.

Tára looked into Boromir's eyes, words escaping her. She reached forward, hugging the man quickly. Before pulling away, she kissed Boromir's cheek.

"Thank you."

As she turned to go, Boromir caught Tára's elbow, turning her towards him. Before she knew it, Tára was enveloped in the man's embrace. Boromir lifted Tára's chin with one hand, claiming her mouth in a kiss. Tára felt the man's desperation and longing in his touch. Tára resisted at first but melted against Boromir as he gentled his kiss. All too soon, Boromir pulled away, though his hand still rested on the back of Tára's neck. Tára felt breathless and heat burned in her face.

"I will always love you, Tára. Never forget that."

Boromir leaned towards Tára again but the cry of an eagle split through the air, shattering the moment. Tára turned away from Boromir, her heart unable to take the pain in the man's eyes.

"Farewell, Boromir." Tára said, placing her hand on Boromir's cheek. With a pained look, she turned away from the man.

Tára walked to where Swiftwing was standing, her eyes focused on nothing. When she looked up, she was not looking at an eagle but the very familiar blue eyes of Legolas. The elf smiled at Tára.

"Swiftwing has kept watch of my father's realm from the air for many years." Legolas said as if in explanation as to why he was with the eagle. Tára only nodded at the elf, her voice not feeling very trustworthy.

"I brought the message that I wrote for my father and I have also brought you this." Legolas held out a folded piece of parchment in one hand and a silver necklace chain in the other. Gently, the elf took Boromir's ring from Tára's hand.

"A gift such as this should not be lost."

Tára watched in amazement as Legolas threaded the ring onto the chain, reached behind Tára, and clasped the chain around her neck.

"Thank you." Tára managed to whisper, earning her another hug from the elf.

"Until our next meeting, Tára Ohtar."

Legolas helped Tára settle on Swiftwing's back, whispering something in elvish to the great bird. The eagle made a few quiet clucking sounds and Legolas spoke some more. The elf was talking fast enough that Tára could not tell what he was saying. Suddenly, with a cry, the elf jumped back.

"Fly, Swiftwing!"

The eagle launched into flight through a clearing in the golden canopy, jolting Tára's stomach. Just as she was about to look away from the ground, another figure joined Legolas. Boromir raised a hand in farewell, and then brought his hand to his eyes. Tára's last memory of Lothlórien was the sight of Legolas putting a comforting hand on Boromir's shoulder then disappearing into the trees.

* * *

For a long while, Tára took only minimal notice of her surroundings. The eagle that carried her was aptly named, for the only sensation of flight that Tára felt was the constant wind rushing over the eagle's back. Soon after taking flight, frost had begun to form on the edges of Tára's clothing. She now rested between the great bird's shoulders, her cloak wrapped around her snuggly. Every so often, Swiftwing would glance over his shoulder at the young woman. Tára's eyes caught the eagles and she smiled uncomfortably. She had practically ignored the bird since learning of it from Galadriel and Celeborn.

"You may call me Swiftwing, human."

Tára looked at Swiftwing incredulously. It was as if the eagle had read her thoughts.

"I am sorry that I have been rude, my friends call me Tára."

"The Elvin prince, as well as the lord and lady, have told me who you are." Swiftwing looked over his shoulder again, fixing an amber eye in Tára.

"Well, I want to thank you for carrying me before we get there, I..."

"Do not thank me yet, human. The elven prince gave me a specific request that extends beyond this one meeting of ours. It is unwise to give thanks for something that might not happen." The eagle let out a sound that Tára would have called a laugh under any other circumstances but now she was not so sure.

"Though we birds of the air do not meddle much with humans, we are true to our word." Swiftwing said over his shoulder. "Though your race seems prone to duplicity."

"What did Legolas tell you?" Tára asked, hoping to divert the eagle's musings.

"The Elven prince told me something that pertained to you and I will carry that request out."

"Are eagles always this taciturn?" Tára asked, her earlier passiveness replaced by annoyance.

"Ah! So you are not devoid of emotion. I was beginning to think that the son of Thranduil had put stock in something that was not what he expected. Anyway, we have learned not to say anything directly unless we are certain that it is right or that it is needed to be said. For like the birds of the air, words will always come back to roost."

"Are you then an expert in this practice, that what you said about me is what you meant?" Tára looked into the amber eye that the eagle fixed on her, challenging Swiftwing.

" I am the youngest of my brood not even old enough to have found a life mate, so I may not be as practiced in this 'art' as some of my other kin."

Tára looked away from the eagle, for his eyes gave away no emotion that she could read.

"Out of curiosity," Tára asked, "how old are you?"

"I am eighty seasons. In your reckoning of time I would be twenty years." Swiftwing looked over his shoulder again, and then looked ahead. "I am not familiar with how humans find a life mate, though I suspect that you have found one?"

The eagles question left Tára out to sea until Swiftwing looked back over his shoulder. Tára caught her reflection in the eagle's eye. She was absently toying with Boromir's ring.

"Does that token mean you are somebody's life mate?"

"I am not any person's life mate." Tára answered, her throat tightening against her will.

"If I did not know any better, I believe that the man that stood by the elven prince is the owner of that trinket."

"You are correct, though I do not wish to speak of this matter further."

"As you wish, wise one."

Tára and the eagle fell into silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. After a long while, Tára looked up to find that a dark smudge had appeared on the horizon. A pillar of smoke rose from a spot in the smudge.

"Smoke rises from the hill of sorcery. It has been like that for the past fortnight."

Tára looked at Swiftwing, though the eagle kept his eyes focused ahead. The cadence of the eagle's wings quickly picked up speed until the beginnings of the forest rushed underneath them. Swiftwing dipped lower until he was just barely above the trees, causing Tára's stomach to lurch. They flew for sometime like this until Tára spotted another small plume of smoke before them.

"That must be the scouting party that left..." Tára was not able to finish her sentence for Swiftwing let out an earsplitting cry. Several large, black arrows stuck out of one of his wings. Looking below her, Tára could see the dark shapes of creatures moving through the trees. Two more arrows whizzed by Tára's head. One missed Swiftwing though the other imbedded itself with its kin. The trees suddenly rose up to meet Tára, small branches scratching her arms and face. With a bone jarring impact, Swiftwing landed in the trees. Tára was launched off the eagles back, spinning through the air. Twisting through the air, Tára's body seemed to right itself on its own accord. She was soon sliding on the forest floor, though on her feet. Astonished, Tára gazed at the two identical stripes leading away from the eagle, the gouges caused by her own two feet.

Harsh cries sounded throughout the forest, moving steadily closer to Tára and the wounded eagle. With a startling clarity, Tára realized that she and Swiftwing were not going to be alone for long. What Galadriel had said about a scouting party had been right, though the size of the party was not distinguished. Tára looked about frantically, trying to regain her bearings. The forest was thick and dark around her, dashing any hope of finding her way.

"Swiftwing, are you alright?" Tára ran up to the bird, anxiety causing her voice to shake. The sounds of the enemy party were still coming closer. "Swiftwing, please." Tára looked into the eagle's eyes, her heart sinking with dread. The bird was still alive, though he was not conscious. Her heart sank even further when Tára caught sight of the arrows in the bird's wing. A dark black liquid oozed from the visible parts of the arrows. The arrows were poisoned.

Tára jerked away from the place that she had been standing. An arrow identical to the ones in Swiftwing now stuck out of the tree directly behind Tára. Unsheathing her sword, Tára stood behind a large tree. Though she had never seen any in her life, Tára knew exactly what was pursuing her. Orcs burst out of the trees into the clearing that Swiftwing's landing had made. With a deep breath, Tára jumped out of her hiding place. The sudden appearance of Tára must have startled the orcs for they all stopped for a split second. The shock wore off immediately for the nearest orc charged Tára. Just as the orc began to swing its blade, a calming silence settled on Tára. With practiced ease, her sword blocked the blow. The orc fell at Tára's feet in less time it takes to blink.

One by one, the orcs would charge Tára, each falling not a few steps from where they previously stood. Everything seemed to be in Tára's favor. No enemy had even gotten close to the fallen eagle that she guarded. Tára swung her sword towards an orc, incapacitating it in an instant. Tára's silence shattered after the orc fell. A deep bellow sounded behind her. Whirling around, Tára caught sight of a dark shape plowing through the trees towards her. The bellow sounded again. Tára looked around in alarm, her cool reserve nearly vanishing. A few orcs came through the trees in front of her while the dark shape was coming from the behind. Her time to think was shattered, for the dark shape appeared in the clearing. A troll stood behind Tára, his mace raised. Whirling around, Tára sliced at the beast's wrist. Her sword found its mark, spraying blood down on Tára. The troll roared in outrage, dropping his weapon. The next thing she knew, Tára felt as if her body had been slammed with a giant rock. Skidding along the ground, all went black as Tára's back slammed into the trunk of a tree.

* * *

A/N: I hope you all are still enjoying the story!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Pain. It was all Tára felt. Her ribs seared in pain every time she took a breath. The rough ground scraped along her back, every stick and root stabbing through her clothes into her skin. Harsh voices laughed and talked around Tára. Her eyes fluttered open for an instant, bringing one of the voices close.

"Master, she's awake."

"Bring her forward." A dark voice intoned, followed by rough, dark laughter. Tára's eyes popped open as a searing pain burned her scalp. One of her captors had a handful of her hair, dragging her closer to the dark voice. Tára could not suppress the groan of pain as she was lifted by her hair to her feet. Pain stabbed through her back and ribs as Tára's feet left the ground. She grabbed at the hand that held her, desperately trying to free herself. Her efforts were only met with raucous laughter as her captor shook her head viciously. Darkness ringed Tára's vision for a moment as her eyes met those of a person before her. Tára, though she had only seen illustrations of one, knew she was looking at an uruk. The beast was tall and heavily muscled. The eyes that leered at her were a demonic yellow; one eye was clouded over and surrounded by scars. The beast's skin was a mottled black and its hair was white, though it was caked with a dark substance. Tára's observations were cut short as she was shaken by her hair again.

"She's small for an elf." The shaker said above her, chuckling darkly.

"Yes she is." The white haired uruk answered, reaching a clawed hand towards Tára's face. She cringed away as best she could but the beast was faster and grasped her jaw tightly.

"What do you want?" Tára gritted through her teeth. The uruk laughed and tightened his grip with bruising intensity. Tára could not help squeezing her eyes shut in pain as the creature's claws started to pierce her skin.

"The Great Eye needs to renew his stock. A new she-elf dog every once in a while keeps the bloodline going." The uruk burst into laughter, leaning closer to Tára's face. Surprise flashed across the creature's face when he noticed Tára's ears. Tára's pulse pounded as panic clawed at her throat. The uruk looked her up and down, his previous leering expression returning.

"This one is no elf but I'm sure she will be good sport anyways." The white-haired uruk let go of Tára's face, turning to the smaller orcs behind him. He gave a few commands in a grotesque sounding language and the orcs started to move away. Tára looked to her side, noticing it was another uruk that held her. It noticed her watching him and smiled evilly. Tára started to struggle anew as she realized the band of orcs was gone, leaving her alone with the two uruks. The white-haired uruk came back in front of Tára, grasping the front of her tunic. The other uruk let go of her hair, grasping both of her wrist in one giant hand.

"The aroma of fear is so, intoxicating." The white-haired uruk pulled Tára forward, leaning towards her neck. The beast inhaled her scent then laughed. Tára started to struggle until she realized that the two uruks seemed to enjoy her futile attempts at escape.

"Please, let me go." Tára pleaded as the scent of the uruk hit her. He smelled of blood and rotting meat. Bile rose in her throat. The uruk started to rip the laces of Tára's tunic, a sadistic gleam in his yellow eyes.

"Let me go!" Tára struggled again only to be thrown to the ground by the uruk behind her. The air was instantly knocked out of her as the pain in her ribs began anew. The white-haired uruk crouched over her, again ripping at her clothes. Tára kicked at the beast with all her might, landing a solid hit. The white-haired uruk roared in pain, lashing out at Tára. Tára screamed as the beast's clawed hand raked across her face. Blood ran into her eyes, blurring her vision.

"Please, let me…" Tára begged, but her plea was cut off as the second uruk stepped on her throat, slowly crushing her. Reason left Tára as she struggled against the uruks frantically. The white-haired uruk tore at her clothes, gouging her skin with his claws as he went.

_Valar, help me… _Tára thought as her vision began to go dark. From far away, Tára heard the sounds of battle. The pressure from the white-haired uruk disappeared from on top of her suddenly. A muffled roar sounded in Tára's ears and the pressure on her throat disappeared as well. With a gasp, Tára sucked in a breath, her throat and lungs burning. Her ears rang as she lay on the ground panting. She realized the battle noise was gone from around her. Tára reached a hand to her face, though another hand stopped her.

"Lay still, young one. Drink this." A familiar, yet foreign voice said. Tára drank from the wineskin that was held to her lips, all the while keeping her eyes shut tight. A comforting warmth spread through her body as everything around Tára went dark.

* * *

Faces and shapes flashed before Tára's eyes. Pain also made its presence known. Any movement caused pain to radiate from multiple points in her body. Something cool and soft touched her face, soothing the burn that was growing stronger. Tára opened her eyes, though everything was blurry. Fair voices spoke around her though Tára paid no attention, sinking back into the darkness. After some time, Tára heard people speaking to her again, this time the tone was commanding.

"Woman, wake up."

Tára tried to obey the command but her body would not comply.

"Woman, awaken." The voice said again.

Tára opened her eyes. They were met by a flood of light, causing her to close them again quickly. Trying again, Tára opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She was in a small room, lit by one window near the ceiling. The walls looked as if they had been made out of one piece of stone. The bed that she lay on was large and soft. Looking down at herself, Tára saw that she only wore a simple white gown.

"You have been causing the healers many headaches, young one."

Tára turned her head quickly towards the sound of the voice. Before her head started to spin, her eyes met those of another person. An elf sat in a chair very close to the edge of the bed.

"What happened?" Tára asked, putting her head in her hands to stop the room from rotating.

"You were nearly crushed by the blow of an olog-hai. Then you were assaulted by two uruks that followed. If we had not come when we did..." the elf let the sentence hang, not wanting to cause the young woman distress. The elf looked at the young woman before him, realizing that she had not heard a word he had said. She had one hand on her face and was looking at the palm of the other. The elf noticed that small specks of blood dotted her palm. With a sigh, the elf stood, locating a small mirror the nurses had left.

"Do you wish to see?" the elf asked, placing a hand on Tára's shoulder. The young woman turned confused eyes to the elf but took the mirror he offered.

Tára was in shock. Three long gashes crossed her face. The top gash went from her hairline to the far edge of her right eyebrow. The bottom gash was the smallest of the three, merely tracing a short line from her left cheekbone to the edge of her chin. The middle gash though, was what arrested Tára's attention. It ran through her left eyebrow, across the bridge of her nose, then across the right side of her face, ending at the corner of her jaw. The wounds had been cleaned and the finest silken thread ran in neat stitches across the wounds, holding the injured flesh together. Though for all the elves' skilled work, each gash looked red and angry. A single tear slid down Tára's cheek, following the new path carved into her face.

"The healers have done all they can. They say the scars will fade with time." The words the elf spoke seemed hollow to his own ears as he watched the horror drain the young woman's face of any color she had regained. He watched as the young woman carefully wiped the single tear away and dropped the mirror onto her lap. She took a shuddering breath then looked tentatively towards the elf.

"Who are you?"

"I am Legil-Galad, second son of Oropher the Great, captain of the royal guard and adviser to Thranduil, ruler of these woods." The elf spoke with quiet authority.

The voice of the elf sounded familiar to Tára. Looking up, Tára's eyes met the elf's again. They were the purest green she had ever seen. The face of the elf looked familiar to Tára though foreign at the same time. The elf smiled gently at Tára, nearly causing her heart to stop. The elf looked so uncannily like Legolas when he smiled.

"I am called Tára." Tára said quietly, gaining another enigmatic smile from the elf. Tára turned her face away self-consciously, letting her hair create a curtain between her and Legil-Galad.

"I know who you are. When we found Swiftwing, we also found the letters that were sent with you. Thranduil has received the lady Galadriel's message; your duty I assume has been fulfilled."

"What happened to Swiftwing?" Tára asked, looking at Legil-Galad. That elf stood, walking over to a small shelf that, Tára noticed, held all of her things.

"We came upon him in the clearing where he landed. The orcs must have assumed that their poison would soon kill him for they let him lie. He is with his kind healing now." Legil-Galad smiled gently at Tára, noticing how she absently touched the wounds on her face.

"Thranduil wants an audience with you, though he will understand if you need some more time" Legil-Galad turned to leave, taking Tára's silence as a declined invitation. He was at the door when Tára spoke.

"I will see Thranduil." Tára said quietly.

"I will send someone to deliver clothes for you then. When you are ready, I will find you and take you to my brother." Legil-Galad answered, smiling compassionately at Tára once again.

Tára looked at the elf, still in a slight stupor. She barely noticed that Legil-Galad had placed Boromir's ring on the covers at the foot of her bed.

* * *

Legil-Galad walked away quickly from Tára's room. The young woman was fortunate to have escaped with her life after her encounter with the scouting party from Dol Guldur. Legil-Galad and his warriors had been astonished to realize what Tára carried. What he had read in the letters to Thranduil and what he had seen all matched up. Tára may have thought that she was privileged to own such an artifact from the Lady Galadriel. That a human had been chosen was surprising to Legil-Galad, though he mused that the Valar worked in strange ways. Before Legil-Galad reached the chambers of the nurse, a chilling thought assailed him. Tára probably did not even know the importance of the gift Galadriel had given her.

* * *

Tára leaned against the bed, not trusting her legs to hold her. She had managed to remove the light gown but stopped short when she looked down at her body. Deep gouges matching the ones on her face covered her torso and upper legs. Tremors began to run up and down her body at the memory of what almost happened. Tára pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself. She did not know how long she stood by the bed until a person touched her on the shoulder. Tára jumped, though regretted the sudden movement.

"Forgive me; will you be able to visit the king?" an elf maid stood at Tára's elbow, a concerned look on her face.

Tára looked over at the elf addressing her and nodded the affirmative. Though she was not at her fullest now, she wanted to know what was going on.

"I still wish to meet with Thranduil, though I'm not sure how well I will fare." Tára said in elvish. The face of the elf before Tára showed her surprise at Tára's use of the elven tongue though she remained silent.

"I think I will need your help." Tára said, motioning to the clothes the nurse held. The elf nodded and set to work.

* * *

Legil-Galad stood patiently outside the door to Tára's chamber. The young human had proven yet again to be full of surprises. Legil-Galad had heard Tára speak in the elven tongue. Even now, the young woman conversed with the nurse amiably, though Legil-Galad could sense her reserve. His heart pained him for the young woman. She was definitely lovely according to human standards but even now, that lovely visage was marred. Anger flared in the elven lord's chest.

"These days are evil from dawn til dusk." Legil-Galad muttered.

The door opened and the elven nurse exited the room. Legil-Galad entered the room then, met by the sight of a very pale young woman. Tára stood very stiffly, as if she could not relax. Legil-Galad took all this in quickly, offering his arm to the young woman. Tára smiled up at the elf in thanks though lowered her face quickly, bringing a hand to her cheek.

"Will you be alright?" Legil-Galad asked quietly.

"I will be fine, thank you." Tára said in elvish, missing the smile that graced the elf's features.

As they walked, Tára observed the elf escorting her. Legil-Galad only resembled Legolas when he smiled but the family resemblance was there. Legil-Galad's face was finer and more angular than his nephew's was. His body could better be compared to a willow than an oak, though the outline of hard muscle could be seen through Legil-Galad's tunic.

They passed many elves in the grand passageways of the mountain palace. Some glanced at the pair though looked away discretely when they saw Tára's face. Tára became more self-conscious by the minute and all of the wounds on her body were starting to burn from the movement of walking. Before Tára knew it, Legil-Galad had stopped before two giant wood doors. The elf reached up and took hold of a large golden ring, bringing the ring down upon the wood with a resounding boom. The doors immediately began to open. Once there was enough space for the pair to walk through, Legil-Galad led Tára into the throne room. To Tára's surprise, a great oaken table sat in the middle of the room, scattered with parchments and maps. A lone elf stood at the far end of the table. Tára took in the elf's fine apparel, rightly guessing that the elf was Thranduil. The king looked up sharply at the entering pair. Tára was yet again astounded at the family resemblance. Thranduil had passed his looks to his son almost feature for feature.

"Is this the one?" Thranduil asked brusquely. The look in the elven king's eyes seemed as if it could cut through the hardest stone. Tára had seen this look in Legolas' eyes from time to time. Compared to the gaze Thranduil fixed on Tára now, it was a mere passing glance.

"She is the one they call Tára, my lord." Legil-Galad said to Thranduil.

"It is strange that two elves of high stature would praise a human who has barely come of age among her own kind." Thranduil said, still watching Tára.

"I tell you the truth when I say that I did not know how they spoke of me. I feel that their praise was a little misplaced" Tára said quietly in her defense. The Elven king's mouth quirked in a smile for a split second as Tára was talking. The expression looked as if it could change dangerously fast.

"You would call the praise of an elven prince 'misplaced?'" Thranduil asked an unnerving glint in his eye.

"I prefer that honor be given where it is due. I cannot see why they would praise me."

"You are the second human, a woman no less, that my son has praised and supported. I believe the word he used was 'wholeheartedly.'" Thranduil picked up a piece of parchment that Tára recognized as the letter that Legolas had sent with her.

"He has also named you a valiant warrior. I was under the impression that only the women of the horse lords bore arms, though you do not speak as one of Rohan."

"I have no home in this land so I am not bound by tradition or society. Your women bear arms in times of need, I feel I can, and will, do the same, though it was not my first choice. "Tára added in almost a whisper. The throne room became deathly quiet as Tára fell silent. Legil-Galad's eyes moved from his brother to the young woman at his side.

"I have always been skeptical of the human race; I challenge you to prove me wrong when so many others have proved me right." Thranduil said, turning back to his table of papers. "I am sorry for the wounds you sustained on your journey." Thranduil said quietly looking up for a moment. Tára looked away from the elven king, surprised at the look of compassion on his face. Tára felt as if the wounds on her face were on fire.

"You may stay in my realm as long as you need to heal. If it is any consolation, wounds of the body are not what define a soul." After a short pause, Thranduil looked back to his work before him. "You may go." The elven king said, his short manor returning.

Legil-Galad took Tára's arm, leading her out of the grand chamber as quickly as she would allow.

"I think a short tour of the palace would do you well." Legil-Galad said to Tára, leading her away from prying eyes. Word had already leaked out that the messenger might be more important then the message. Rumors had begun to spring up in the community of elves. Legil-Galad wanted to ask Tára first hand what she knew before he released her to the masses.

"Where are you taking me?"

The question from Tára snapped the elf out of his reverie.

"I actually thought that I might show you the armory first. It is the closest room of importance besides the throne room. Here we are now." Legil-Galad entered a large archway to their right. Tára stood in awe as she beheld the sight before her. Every weapon imaginable was housed in row after row of wooden shelves and stands.

"This is amazing, where do you find things as these?" Tára let go of Legil-Galad's arm, forgetting her physical pain for a moment. She walked as fast as she could to a rack of swords. She was about to reach out and take one from the rack when she heard a sound behind her. She turned to see Legil-Galad conversing with another elf. The newcomer kept glancing over Legil-Galad's shoulder, a cynical expression on his face. In a matter of seconds, the elf moved away, though he had made his point. Tára walked away from the swords, holding a hand to her injured face. None of this was lost on Legil-Galad, who was now trying to suppress his irritation.

"Feel free to examine anything. This armory is for those who do not have the privilege of owning a weapon for themselves." Legil-Galad took the sword that Tára had been looking at off the rack. Handing the weapon to Tára, the elf smiled. To his relief, the young woman took the sword from him. He watched her every move, his curiosity piqued. Tára had unsheathed the sword, and was now examining the blade.

"This is similar to the sword the lady Galadriel gave me." Tára said absently, taking a stance with the sword. Her ribs and back cried out in pain as she did this, causing the motion to be stunted. Tára stood up straight again, sheathing the sword and placing it back on the rack. Another elf had walked into the armory, making Tára glad that she had put the weapon back when she did. Legil-Galad, seeing the emotions chase across the young woman's face, held out his arm. Tára took it without a word, her many injuries starting to ache and burn more and more.

"I think a rest is in order." Legil-Galad said leading Tára away from the armory.

* * *

"Do most elves dislike the race of men?" Tára asked Legil-Galad. They had exited the palace and now sat in the middle of a garden not unlike those that Tára had seen in Lothlórien. Legil-Galad looked at Tára for a moment then spoke.

"Only a few but they are some of the most outspoken and visible of my race."

"Thranduil does not really care for humans as well, does he?" Tára asked, looking at Legil-Galad. The elf sighed and looked away from Tára.

"Oropher, our sire, was slain during one of the battles of the Last alliance. I was not there, for I was just a babe. Thranduil was there though, and those memories are what have influenced his thinking since then." Legil-Galad stopped for a moment, looking up at the canopy of leaves above them. He had regretted the way Thranduil had treated Tára upon their meeting. All the elves under Thranduil were used to the elven king's brusque manner, almost to a fault. When Legil-Galad had seen the confusion cross Tára's face he had immediately felt ashamed.

"What happened, at the battle?" Tára asked. Legil-Galad reorganized his thoughts quickly, telling Tára the story.

"During a battle, a battalion of Numenorian solders were assigned to fight with Oropher's battalion. When the charge of the enemy came, the orcs broke through the men as if they were nothing. At the death of the numenorian captain, the battalion fell into disarray. Oropher, trying to rally the men and elves around him, received a grievous wound. The elves became enraged at the loss and began cutting down twice as many foul beasts. The men were cut down as they fled. Thranduil alone carried our dying father away from the battle. While retreating, he saw men falling on their swords rather than fighting nobly to the end. Since then, my brother has held a strong cynicism for the race of men."

"Not all men are like that. With his many years behind him, how could he not see that?"

"That is a fact that his son and I have tried to show him. He will listen to us though he never trusts a human completely."

Tára sat back in silence, giving Legil-Galad a chance to question Tára.

"What did you do in the golden wood? It seems strange that a human would hail from there." Legil-Galad asked, genuine curiosity showing on his face.

"I was staying in Lórien until I had decided my course." Tára looked away from Legil-Galad's probing gaze. "It ended up that my course was decided for me."

"Where did you learn to fight?" Legil-Galad asked even though he had not seen Tára in action before. He had realized that she was an experienced swordsman when he had observed her in the armory. Though she was injured, the stance had been excellent before Tára's body had protested. As Legil-Galad watched Tára now, her hand moved to her face and then down to the trinket around her neck. She absently twirled the large silver ring around her own fingers. Legil-Galad watched the young woman closely, seeing what Legolas had described in his letter. This human was special, even outside of the gift that she had been given.

"A ranger, one of the Dunedain, taught me how to fight. Legolas even taught me a few things. They said that I was the fastest learner that they had ever seen. I think they were exaggerating a little."

"Legolas must truly care for you."

"What?" Tára looked at the elf quizzically.

"He addressed you as 'sister' in his letter."

"Really?" Tára felt pleased and sad at the same time when she heard those words. Thoughts came flooding back that seemed like long forgotten memories. The faces of Xander and her father flashed in her mind. Where were they? What was happening to them?

"My lord, king Thranduil wishes to speak with you."

The words of the intruder startled Tára from her thoughts. She found Legil-Galad standing and offering her a hand.

"I am sorry but I must go." Legil-Galad said, looking disappointed. The expression on the elf's face confused Tára, sending her back to her musings. Her walk back to her chamber was spent in silence, her only other word being a farewell to Legil-Galad. As the elf walked away, Tára closed the door silently. The bed in front of her looked too appealing. Tára found herself between the covers before she knew it.

* * *

A/N: I am sorry for the lag posting this new chapter. First it was the Holiday's and their various family gatherings that filled my time and then my darling 6mo old son was sick and teething at the same time. I'm sorry if the dark start to this chapter alarms anyone but let me tell you that sleep deprivation can cause some angsty writing... though I knew I was going to subject poor Tára to this before losing a week of sleep. I hope you all are still enjoying my story.

As another quick sidenote, I am still trying to get used to the formatting when I post a new chapter so please forgive any strange paragraph jumps and other such small, bothersome things. :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

Tára jerked awake, stifling a scream into her pillow. She had been in the Greenwood for a week since waking. Though she had been unconscious from her injuries, Tára wished she could go back to that semi-peaceful state of mind. Since her first night after she had awoken, Tára had been plagued with nightmares. They were all the same and all ended the same way but Tára always woke screaming.

Tára sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Pale morning light started to creep through the small window of her chamber. The pink light glittered off shards of glass in the corner. Tára had broken a mirror against the wall a few days before, not able to look upon her wounded face without shedding bitter tears. With a shiver, Tára unconsciously remembered her paralyzing fear and the feel of the uruks hands upon her body.

Tára's glance strayed to her sword, which leaned in the opposite corner. Anger flared in her soul.

"What was Galadriel thinking? And why was I so stupid to agree to this? I have no business meddling in anything." Tára muttered, her anger at the elven lady and her own naiveté flaring. Tára got out of bed, throwing one of her pillows across the room. It landed with a dull thud next to her sword. Suddenly, the room seemed stifling to Tára. She dressed quickly, hoping to sneak out of the waking palace unnoticed. As she came to the door, her eyes strayed once again to her sword. She turned resolutely from the weapon, about to open the door when a knock startled her.

"Lady Tára?" an elven voice called beyond the door. Tára opened the portal to see one of the elven healers.

"I am sorry, were you about to leave?" the healer asked, looking Tára up and down quickly.

"Uh, no." Tára lied, "do you need something?"

"May I come in?" the healer asked, motioning inside the room. Tára stepped aside, letting the elf pass.

"The number of days for the sutures on your facial wound is completed. I've come to take them out; it will only take a moment." The healer motioned for Tára to sit on the single chair in the room. Tára obeyed quickly and the elf set to work. The healer worked quickly and smoothly, though Tára still felt a strange itching every time one of the silken strands left her flesh. In a matter of minutes, the healer was done. Without giving Tára a chance to think, the elf produced a mirror from under her tray of instruments she had brought in. Tára tensed, instantly closing her eyes.

"It will help if you see." The healer said quietly. Tára reluctantly opened her eyes, grimacing at her reflection. The wounds were still a bright red but the skin was closed. Tára took a shaky breath, touching one of the scars. The skin was still tender and the edges felt tight.

"The skin will tighten on all the wounds on your body when they scar, though these on your face may pull the most. Take this ointment and apply it to your scars to help with the healing." The healer handed a small silver container to Tára. "I will be on my way. May the Valar bless you, Wise One." Without giving Tára a chance to reply, the healer left the room.

Tára sat on the chair for some minutes afterwards. The healer's kindness had diffused her black mood, leaving her feeling sheepish and a little empty. With a sigh, Tára stood, reached for her sword and strapped it to her waist.

"Let's see if I remember the way." Tára said, setting out for the practice fields. All of a sudden, the chance at a fight sounded appealing.

* * *

"What is she doing here?" a soldier of the royal guard sneered, motioning towards the entrance to the practice ring. Legil-Galad turned to see who his soldier was talking about, sending the elf a scathing glance when he saw it was Tára.

"She has just as much right as any to be here, as well as the blessing of the King. Mind your own actions and do not worry about the rest." Legil-Galad said, dismissing the elven guard with a steely look and a wave of his hand. The younger elf left, though he stepped wide of Tára when he passed by, turning his face away from the young woman.

Tára watched this all with a mix of admiration and irritation. She appreciated the way Legil-Galad stood up for her, though the glaringly apparent censure of the other elf gnawed at Tára. Even now, Tára felt her face burn, not from her wounds but in shame.

"Please forgive my soldier." Legil-Galad said, walking up to Tára. He noticed with some satisfaction that Tára's brown eyes seemed less shadowed today though he could see the embarrassment she was trying very hard to hide.

"I came to spar with someone, that is, if I can find a willing partner." Tára said quickly, turning her face away from Legil-Galad. The kind look on the elf lord's face was almost enough to send Tára running back to her room. She abandoned that plan instantly, knowing the elf would only follow. Legil-Galad had come to her chamber several times during the week, trying to draw Tára out. He had been successful for the most part, taking Tára to the gardens and library, though that was all Tára would allow. To Tára, Legil-Galad seemed different from the majority of the elves inhabiting Thranduil's realm. As a whole, Thranduil's subjects treated Legil-Galad with respect but there seemed to be another element to their interactions that Tára could not quite put her finger on. All that in combination with Tára's scarred visage, left her little enjoyment during these excursions.

"Are you sure you are healed enough to fight?" Legil-Galad asked Tára, snapping the young woman out of her thoughts.

"I am as sure as I can be, if that is any help to you." Tára said flatly, casting a quick glance at the elf.

"You are sure?" Legil-Galad ventured one last time. His only answer was a quick nod from Tára.

"Then let's begin." Legil-Galad said, walking to the center of the ring. Tára's head snapped up, realizing that Legil-Galad meant to be her partner. The elf lord merely smiled at Tára, his sword held relaxed at his side. Tára took a deep breath, walking up to meet the elf. With one smooth motion, she unsheathed her sword. With reluctance, Tára realized that having her sword back in her hand felt as natural as breathing.

Taking a few moments to warm up, Tára watched Legil-Galad. The elf stood at the ready, though Tára could tell he was waiting for Tára's assent to begin.

"I am ready." Tára said, casting a quick look at Legil-Galad. Immediately, the elf lord took his stance.

Closing her eyes, Tára listened to the sounds around her. She could hear other elves across the great cavern that housed the practice fields. A clash of metal sounded to her right, the twang of a bow to the opposite side. Then she heard it, the sharp intake of breath as Legil-Galad charged forward. Tára's eyes opened like a flash. She parried the elf's blow dodging quickly around him. Legil-Galad was fast though, turning in one fluid motion to attack Tára again. Tára parried and dodged around Legil-Galad, smiling when her eyes met the elf's. Suddenly, Tára's vision flashed. Legil-Galad no longer stood before her but a giant uruk. The beast raised his sword, charging at Tára. A jolt of fear shot through Tára, causing her adrenaline to rush. She dodged the uruks blow, spinning around it to attack its back. The creature was fast though, Tára noticed, as it turned and parried her attack.

_This beast shall die… _Tára thought, seeing the beast leer at her.

* * *

Something was wrong; Legil-Galad could feel it. Tára's eyes had lost all focus, and a pained grimace was on her face. She continued to attack the elf, though all pretenses at sparring were gone. Each and every strike was aimed to kill, giving Legil-Galad no room for error.

"You shall not escape with your life." Tára said to Legil-Galad in elvish, her voice low and hoarse. Within seconds, Legil-Galad knew what was wrong; he had seen it many times before. Tára aimed a strike at Legil-Galad's neck, bringing her face close.

"Tára, you are not yourself! Come back to us!" Legil-Galad said fiercely.

"You dare try to reason with me, you filthy beast?" Tára answered, launching herself at Legil-Galad.

Legil-Galad braced himself when he saw Tára renew her attack. She pressed her blows against the elf fiercely. Legil-Galad parried and dodged, all the while losing ground to Tára. Though he was literally fighting for his life, a detached part of Legil-Galad's mind was astounded at the level of swordsmanship Tára displayed. He had never thought that a child of man could master the art so totally and effortlessly like one of the elven kind. One of the gifted of the elven kind for that matter.

_Or a madwoman. _Legil-Galad thought, his unease growing by the minute.

* * *

Tára wove in and out of the uruk's counter attacks with seemingly no effort. She found morbid pleasure at the pained look on the beast's face.

_Time to finish this. _

With an inhuman burst of strength, Tára lunged herself at the uruk, knocking the creature to one knee. The beast seemed surprised that Tára had bested it, leaving itself wide open to attack. Tára pulled back, about to strike the killing blow.

_Tára stop! _

Unearthly, crystalline blue eyes flashed in Tára's mind and a loud voice echoed in her head.

_Stop this madness young one! Do not succumb to it! _

With a start, Tára stepped back. Her limbs began to shake. It was not an uruk who stood before her but Legil-Galad. The elf lord had risen to his feet, knocking Tára's sword out of her hands. The elf grasped the young woman's shoulders tightly, giving her a little shake.

"Tára? Are you hurt?" Legil-Galad searched her scared face for any sign of recognition. The young woman took a shaking breath, turning her eyes up to the elf.

_Blue eyes? _

"Tára, what color are your eyes?" Legil-Galad asked. Tára looked up at the elf confusion on her face.

"I very nearly killed you and you want to know what color my eyes are?" Tára asked, her voice rising as the enormity of her actions started to sink in.

"It is no matter. What color are your eyes?" Legil-Galad asked again, knowing the answer already.

"Brown." Tára said quietly, surprised when Legil-Galad's eyes widened.

"I think there needs to be some explaining." The elf lord said, ushering Tára quickly away from the practice field.

"What needs explaining?" Tára looked at the elf, confusion written on her face. Legil-Galad's only answer was a small shake of his head.

* * *

Tára tried to keep track of where they were going but she soon gave up. Legil-Galad led her through almost a dozen tunnels until he finally stopped in front of an ancient looking door. The wood of the door was carved beautifully, though it looked as is it had seen better days. Legil-Galad opened the door and ushered Tára through. Inside, the smell of books and age assailed Tára's senses. The room was a mere closet compared to the royal library that she had seen earlier that week. Though even in its limited size, the walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books and parchments.

"What are we doing?" Tára looked around, reaching out and touching the bindings of a few books. Legil-Galad only pointed to a chair behind an ornate desk for Tára to sit in. when she was settled, Tára saw that her elven companion had a large book in his arms. Legil-Galad set the book down in front of Tára.

"Do you know of Melian?" Legil-Galad asked.

"The Maia? Of course." Tára answered, her annoyance starting to grow.

"She is not only a maiar but she was also a queen of elves. She and her consort Elu Thingol ruled the greatest kingdom of elves, Doriath. Melian protected the city with the power and wisdom that had been bestowed upon her by Ilúvatar." Legil-Galad paused and opened the large book, turning the pages gently.

"As a tribute to their queen, the elven smiths of the kingdom forged Melian a sword." As Legil-Galad said these words, he turned to the page that he had been looking for. Upon the page was a drawing of a sword. The elf rotated the book so that Tára could see.

"That's the sword that Galadriel gave me."

"Yes, it is, though it is not a common sword. When the smiths were forging the sword, they had Melian sing over the metal, literally breathing her essence into the sword. As a mark of Melian, the smiths set a sapphire in the shape of a nightingale into the pommel."

The young woman realized that Legil-Galad held her sword. The elf placed the weapon beside the book. The blades were identical, except that the blade in the book had flowing runes up and down its length.

"The runes on this sword merely say, 'The Bringer of Light.' When Galadriel was given ownership of the sword, she promised that she would keep the sword until the right soul came that could wield it." Legil-Galad cast a quick look at Tára who only nodded for the elf to continue.

"After the sword was completed, the smiths gave the weapon to Melian. She accepted the weapon, blessing the smiths for their work. Not long after Melian was presented with the sword, Thingol demanded a silmaril for the bride price of Lúthien. Thingol was slain by the dwarves of Nogrod, and Melian abandoned her body. Doriath was overrun and the blade was thought to be lost. After many years, it became known that Galadriel had found the blade, by what means, we do not know. Because she had sat under the tutelage of Melian, Galadriel was allowed to keep the sword."

"But why is the sword so special? I have heard of many different things being blessed that had no special merit after that." Tára said, taking her sword off the table and replacing it in its sheath.

"The sword is blessed, though that is not what makes it so unique. It was her song." Legil-Galad said, looking at Tára. The young woman only looked back, puzzled. The elf sighed and continued.

"The song that Melian sang over the blade was said to be one of her most beautiful, most woeful, and most haunting songs. They said that the smiths could scarcely keep working while Melian sang, for their hearts seemed to be weighed down by a shadow of sorrow. Accounts have said that the smiths openly wept as they worked, for the song was so beautiful yet so sorrowful."

"What were the words of the song?" Tára asked, feeling her cynicism grow.

"It is said that Melian sang of the last days and their coming sorrow, ruin, and end. She sang of one that would come, bearing in them the spirit and will of the Valar." Legil-Galad fell silent for a moment, turning a page in the book. "It is said that after the sword was forged, the Valar spoke to Melian. They told her because of her faithfulness to Ilúvatar, the Bringer of light would wield her weapon as a sign." Legil-Galad fell silent, studying the page before him. Tára looked at the page as well, seeing that Legil-Galad was tracing the lines of a picture. Tára leaned closer, examining the image. It was a drawing of a warrior in combat, though it was hard to tell if the warrior was male or female. The figure was wielding Melian's blade. As Tára's gaze crept to the warrior's face, she drew in a shocked breath. Across the warrior's androgynous features were three diagonal scars and around its neck, a chain holding a signet ring.

"No…no, it can't be; I won't… I…" Tára rose hastily from her chair, nearly tripping over a pile of books at her feet.

"You bear the blade." Legil-Galad said quietly.

"No." With that single word, Tára fled from the room. Legil-Galad sighed, closing the book slowly. He would wait for a time and then go find Tára.

* * *

Tára found her way out of the winding tunnels, eventually finding the entrance to the royal gardens. Her mind had not stopped working since Legil-Galad told her the confusing story. That the elf was implying that she was the "Bringer of Light" was simply preposterous. She had defended any sort of supernatural occurrence before she "came" to ancient Middle Earth though now, she felt as if the supernatural was imposing itself on her life.

A small hollow of young trees appeared to Tára's right. She ducked into the shade, hoping to free herself form any prying eyes. Sitting down on the cool grass, Tára unsheathed her sword and set the weapon across her lap. Tára looked at the blade, seeing her eyes reflected in the cool steel. With a start, she realized that blue eyes stared back at her. She finally realized why Legil-Galad had asked what her color her eyes were. Anger flared in her chest. Why did the Valar choose her? Why did they want her? Tára's reflection gave her no answer, only stared back with crystal blue eyes. Tára looked away, tilting her face towards the leafy canopy. How she wished she could talk to Xander. He always seemed to know what to do. Or Legolas, except that he would probably tell her the same story as Legil-Galad.

Before she knew it, Tára had sunk down into the grass, her hands behind her head. She closed her eyes for a moment. A strange feeling came over her, she suddenly felt cold, and dampness filled the air. When she opened her eyes, Tára saw nothing. The jangling of metal made Tára jerk upright. A shaft of light appeared at floor level and a tray of some sort was shoved through the opening. A couple of rats ran towards the tray but a pair of hands brushed the vermin away.

"Father, eat. You need your strength." A voice said through the darkness. The only answer was a hoarse cough to Tára's right. The person carrying the tray walked by Tára, stooping down in front of her. She leaned forward, trying to see the face. She was just getting close enough to distinguish the person's features when another voice called her name. She felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder and opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed into her face, blinding her. She sat up and looked around, her eyes meeting the kneecaps of a person standing next to her. Legil-Galad stooped down, looking at Tára. The elf looked as if he had something on his mind, though his smile seemed happy.

"I have been looking for you." Any sign of the elf being upset about Tára's abrupt departure was not present. Legil-Galad dropped down in the grass beside Tára, stretching out his long legs. Tára inwardly braced herself for Legil-Galad to bring up the Valar, though the elf surprised Tára.

"It seems that you are well liked in the Golden wood, for you received this missive today." The elf at Tára's side pulled a folded parchment from his tunic and held it before her. "It is a dangerous time to send messages, so I felt that this might be important to you."

Tára took the message, looking it over. It bore no distinguishing marks of any sort, save for the red wax of the seal. Taking a breath, Tára broke the seal, knowing at once, who had written the message. Legil-Galad looked at the young woman curiously, noting her strained features. Sighing, Tára unfolded the letter.

_Tára, to say that this message does not cause me pain would be a lie. Your departure, so sudden and hasty, seemed to have taken my peace of mind with you. Your very presence seemed to soothe my soul. Every night since your departure, I have been troubled. It is as if my very being is struggling against an unseen foe. My dreams have been filled with darkness and misery, the reason why, I know not. How I wish I could share but one more moment with you, for I know it would calm my soul._

Tára stopped reading, looking up to the leafy canopy once again. _Does everyone in Middle Earth think me a miracle worker?_ Tára thought bitterly.

The letter was from Boromir. It was as if the man needed to air out his conscience while expressing his feelings for Tára again. Against her will, Tára felt tears of frustration slip from her eyes. She looked down at the parchment again, noticing a small smudge in the ink.

_The candle I write by has just sputtered. The hour is late, for we held council with the Lord and Lady from early afternoon until eventide. I should not be writing this but I will nonetheless. We are to travel down the Great River until Aragorn has decided our course. I feel that we should strike out from Gondor but Aragorn hears little of my opinions. He fails to see that from Gondor, we could use the enemy's own weapon against him. It is madness to throw away something so powerful. There are those who can wield it for a greater good. Surely, you can see the folly in the path that does not lead to Gondor. How I wish you were here, for you could sway Aragorn's decision._

Tára paused, her heart turning to stone in her chest. Boromir's delusions disturbed her. Even more so, that he attributed such power to her when it came to other's decisions and moods.

A movement to her side snapped Tára out of her reverie. She held the letter again, dreading what the last few paragraphs held.

_Legolas has just joined us. I will be glad to be moving on from these woods. The elves are so enigmatic; it drives one mad after a time. I cannot abide how they seem to know your very thoughts. The Lady Galadriel especially. My brother once called her the "Mistress of Magic," a name that was fitly given. During our council, she seemed to look into my soul. I felt as if someone had spread out my thoughts, letting them be seen by all. Again, I will say that am glad to be moving on._

_I must finish now, for the candle has all but burned out. This missive will not reach you until we are a few days from this place but know that my feelings expressed to you will not change. Though leagues separate us, my love for you keeps you close to my heart. I pray you safe travels. My thoughts follow you wherever you may be. _

_Boromir, scion of the house of Denethor_

Tára took a shaky breath, realizing that she had not breathed for almost a minute.

"Are you going to be alright?" Legil-Galad spoke quietly beside Tára. Tára only shook her head, not trusting her voice. She had not realized how much this letter was affecting her until Legil-Galad had spoken. The elf put an arm around Tára's shoulders, squeezing her gently. That action seemed to loose a torrent of silent tears from Tára. The young woman turned against Legil-Galad, crying into his chest. The elf muttered a few soft words then just let Tára cry.

* * *

Legil-Galad sat silently, Tára still leaning upon his chest. Her tears had stopped some time ago but she was now fast asleep. The elf looked down at the sleeping young woman. He was finding what his nephew had found in Tára. Chosen by the Valar or not, her heart was still young. The thought of someone breaking her heart caused Legil-Galad no small amount of anger. The surge in his emotions surprised the elf. Legil-Galad sighed. His life seemed to touch so many others whose hearts had been hurt. His life had its fair share of grief. Against his will, Legil-Galad's mind drifted to his past.

His mother, Oropher's second wife, had died when he was young. So young that he had barely been weaned. Thranduil was only his half brother. Numerous elven nobles had tried to use that fact against Legil-Galad many times. Though it was thought to be a bone of contention between the brothers, it only made them closer. In many elves' eyes, Thranduil was of a more noble birth than Legil-Galad. After Thranduil and his sister's mother died, Oropher had remarried a rare occurrence among elves. Many had thought that Oropher had married too soon after his first wife's death. A prejudice was formed against the new wife, though Oropher took no heed.

When word reached Legil-Galad's mother that Oropher had fallen in battle, she had faded away. Legil-Galad was left in the care of his half sister. Legil-Galad spent his first two hundred years in Lindon. During his youth, he had achieved great favor in the eyes of the community elders. He quickly surpassed other elves his age in his studies and training. He soon became the community favorite, a position that he had taken reluctantly. Everything he put his hand to seemed to prosper. Legil-Galad was hailed as being blessed by the Valar. Nothing seemed to go badly for Legil-Galad, until Hisimé had come onto the scene. Legil-Galad was smitten at the first sight of the elven maid. She had been living with her mother's people in the Grey Havens. Her father was one who had opposed Oropher's second marriage. Through much persuasion from Legil-Galad and Hisimé, Hisimé's father allowed Legil-Galad to court his daughter. The courtship had been a beautiful time for them both. Never had Legil-Galad felt that his life was so full.

Tára moved against the elf, wrenching him out of his reminiscing. The young woman sighed, seemingly content in sleep. Legil-Galad's mind returned to his memories.

Legil-Galad had always wanted to explore the mountains of Erud Luin. Several of his companions shared his desire for adventure. When preparations were underway, Hisimé had insisted that she be able to go along. Legil-Galad was delighted in her interest, though Hisimé's father was reluctant. In the end though, Hisimé had been allowed to go. It was the most foolish venture in Legil-Galad's life.

Their first days out had been wonderful. The mountains and surrounding scenery were beautiful. On the second week of their explorations, a storm arose. It came upon them so quickly that they had no time to prepare a shelter. One flash of lightening had reassured Legil-Galad that his companions were behind him. The second flash of lightening showed Legil-Galad a sight that was forever burned into his mind.

Legil-Galad had watched in horror as the mountainside disintegrated beneath his companion's feet. He dove onto his stomach, reaching for Hisimé, though it was too late. His last sight of his beloved was her being swept away by the rockslide.

Legil-Galad could do nothing until the storm had abated. When morning cleared away the clouds, Legil-Galad's worst fears were realized. On a plateau farther down the slope was a great pile of rocks and boulders. Small dots of colored cloth were the only signs of his fellow elves. He had searched for days for any bodies but found none. He dug through the rocks until his hands bled, hoping against all hope that he would find something. The only thing that his search had yielded was a scarf of Hisimé's, tattered almost beyond recognition. When he had finally ventured out of the mountains, he was nearly mad with grief and fatigue. Many who saw him could not believe their eyes. Legil-Galad had been only a shadow of his former self. His greatest source of misery was not Hisimé's death though. His greatest source of misery was Hisimé's father.

Legil-Galad presented Hisimé's scarf to her father, laying the fabric at the older elf's feet. The elven noble had nearly exploded with rage. Legil-Galad had fled the presence of Hisimé's father, fearing for his life, empty as it was. Hisimé's father had lost all respect for Legil-Galad. In his rage, he openly slandered Legil-Galad's name, even so far as to suggest that Oropher only married Legil-Galad's mother out of propriety. Behind Legil-Galad's back, Hisimé's father called him an illegitimate son to Oropher. The rumors found root in many hearts, turning the majority against Legil-Galad. The breaking point had been when Hisimé's father openly slandered Legil-Galad in a public place. Legil-Galad remembered the encounter as if it had just happened.

_"__Do not turn away from me, you son of snakes! Your only reason for courting my daughter was your own gratification!" Hisimé's father grabbed Legil-Galad's shoulder, whirling him around. _

_ "__A curse without cause will not alight, my lord." Legil-Galad said coolly. His coolness only seemed to rile the older elf more._

_ "__You are a murderer! You only took my daughter into the mountains to kill her! Your only love is yourself; a trait passed down from your unworthy mother!"_

_The smirk on the face of Hisimé's father had pushed Legil-Galad over the edge. The older elf did not know what hit him; Legil-Galad flew at him so quickly. The crowd around them had grown deathly silent when Legil-Galad came to his senses. He looked down at the elf underneath him in disgust. Through the bruises and blood, Hisimé's father sneered at Legil-Galad, morbid satisfaction written in his eyes. Legil-Galad had gotten to his feet shakily; stunned to the core. He realized in horror that Hisimé's father had won. That very evening, Legil-Galad had left Lindon, vowing never to return as long as Hisimé's father dwelt there. _

Legil-Galad had now dwelt in Mirkwood for two thousand years.

Tára pushed away from Legil-Galad slowly. She looked at Legil-Galad, embarrassment showing on her face.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." Tára pulled her knees up to her chin, a strange look on her face. Legil-Galad recognized the look right away, having seen it before upon the faces of many others.

"You should not punish yourself for a few tears. Some circumstances we cannot control."

"Why me, Legil-Galad?" Tára asked bitterly. "Why would the Valar choose me? Why would they bring me here only to have me break a man's heart? To nearly be killed and to nearly kill you? Why?" Tára looked at Legil-Galad, an expression akin to accusation in her altered eyes.

"Why not you?" the elf asked, not unkindly. Before Tára could protest, the elf continued to speak. "I can see your anger rising and I ask you only to hear me before you close your mind." Legil-Galad fixed a mildly stern expression on Tára. The young woman had her mouth open to protest but closed it quickly. Legil-Galad smiled then continued.

"Who are we to fight against the will of Ilúvatar and the Valar? Our world was created and shaped by those beings as well as our very races. I have learned from past experiences that Ilúvatar's will is always accomplished. Whether you are willingly walking, or being pulled along like a small child. Maybe the answers you seek lie in the path the Valar have chosen for you?" Legil-Galad studied Tára, noticing that her expression had relaxed some. "Trust me, Wise one." Legil-Galad added with a smile.

Tára looked back to the elf lord, meeting his gaze hesitantly. Her next question surprised the elf.

"Have you ever known the future?"

"I do not possess the gift of foresight, if that is what you mean?" Legil-Galad answered, puzzled at the sudden change in conversation.

"No, that is not what I mean." Tára said quietly, crumpling Boromir's letter in her hand.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry for the lapse in updates... life keeps catching up with me! I've been doing a lot of editing and touch ups of the chapters I have written. Sometimes I have to let my writing stew for a few days so that I can see what needs to be changed more clearly. :) So if I'm late updating again, that's more than likely why.

Also, a big "Thank You!" goes out to all my faithful readers and reviewers. I would still post my story even if I didn't get any reviews but all your kind words are very encouraging. It adds a little more enjoyment to the writing process. Thanks again!


	10. Chapter 10

A/ N: If you all are wondering, I reposted this chapter because after some advice from a fellow writer, I decided that a little revision was in order. There are no changes in my plotline but a little more "fleshing out" of some of the characters. Many thanks to Aralinn and your wonderful advice!

A/N:February 6, 2013- I must apologize for an egregious error on my part. Something was just not sitting right with me about my heroine's name! I would research and research and could not find out why until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. "Hodoer" is not Tolkein elvish. At all! I am horrified and embarassed and must beg all my readers pardon! Her name is Tára now, which still means "wise." Once again, I apologize and grovel at my reader's feet. Beware the fallacies of the internet! Now, on with the story!

* * *

A great Uruk aimed its bow at Tára, a demonic rage distorting the beast's face. The arrow left the knock of the bow so quickly that Tára could barely see the black shaft piercing her heart. She looked down at her chest only to find that no arrow protruded from her body. A sharp gasp behind Tára caused her to turn. Boromir stood in front of her, an arrow in his chest. The man seemed to look straight through Tára. He suddenly lunged forward, striking down uruks as easily as cutting young saplings. Tára then saw Merry and Pippin behind Boromir. The young hobbits were frozen in horror.

A shrill whistle sounded like wind through the trees. The impact of another black arrow drove Boromir to a stop. Tára ran forward, reaching out to the man. Her hand slid through him as if it were mist.

A third arrow struck Boromir, driving the man to his knees. With a cry, Merry and Pippin charged forward. Their efforts were stopped short as the uruks grabbed the hobbits, heaving them away with ease. Footsteps sounded ominously behind Tára. She turned to face an uruk, only to have the creature walk through her. Tears streamed down Tára's face as she watched the uruk draw back his bow, aiming the barb of the arrow at Boromir's forehead.

"Forgive me." The man said quietly.

"Boromir!" Tára yelled, jerking upright. Sweat drenched her body and her breath came in rapid bursts. From the window in her room, she could the faint glow of sunrise. She stumbled out of bed, splashing water on her face from the pitcher on the washstand. The cool water stung the tender skin of her wounds but Tára did not notice. Tomorrow. Boromir would fall tomorrow. Tára dug through the chest of clothes the elves had supplied, relieved to find dark grey hose and a matching tunic. She dressed quickly in the travel garb, thankful that the elves had managed to save her black cloak and boots. Tára could only think of one person that could be able to help her: Legil-Galad. Strapping her sword to her waist, Tára left her room quickly, looking for the elven lord.

* * *

"Thranduil, she bears the blade." Legil-Galad said, watching the astonishment wash over his brother's face.

"Are you certain? The Valar chose a human?" Thranduil paced in front of his ornate writing desk. Legil-Galad had come to him before sunrise. His sibling had been keeping his knowledge a secret and now felt that he had to tell Thranduil.

"It was never said that the 'Bringer of Light' would be of the elven race. Ilúvatar has the power to choose whatever being he wishes."

"I know, brother, though we have been thinking that way for so long that the possibility was ruled out." Thranduil stopped pacing, staring at is brother. "Do you think she will be able to put herself to the task?"

"I think she will be able to complete any task that is given her." Legil-Galad said.

An urgent knock on the study door silenced both elves.

"Legil-Galad? Are you in there?"

Both elven lords looked at each other in surprise. Legil-Galad opened the door, revealing Tára. The young woman looked as if she had not slept well. He then noticed that Tára was dressed in traveling clothes.

"Where are you going?" Legil-Galad asked a stern note in his voice.

"Forgive me." Tára said breathlessly, nodding at Thranduil. "I am sorry, Legil-Galad, but I need to leave now." Tára looked at Legil-Galad, silently pleading with the elf.

"Tára, your body may be healing but your mind is not. It would be foolish to thrust yourself into danger when something like what happened yesterday could happen again. I have seen it time and again in many of my soldiers and it takes time to heal." Legil-Galad said, a shadow coming over his face.

"Please, I must go." Tára said, her voice cracking a little in desperation.

Legil-Galad looked at Tára and then back to Thranduil. The elven king looked away from his brother and then met Legil-Galad's eyes again.

"Get her what she needs, for I doubt that she would stop if we did not." the elven king declared, smiling slightly.

"Thank you my lord!" Tára said, turning away from the door immediately.

"Brother?" Legil-Galad looked at the king, slightly annoyed.

"If she is the One, she cannot be stopped." Thranduil merely said in explanation.

"I'm going with her." Legil-Galad said quickly. He looked to his brother, surprised to see that he was still smiling.

"I had a feeling that you would not stay in my realm forever. I feel the Valar have always had a strong hand in your life, my brother." Thranduil's smiled faded slightly. The elven king walked forward, placing a hand on Legil-Galad's shoulder. "Go with the youngling. If she is the Light Bringer, she will need a protector close at hand."

* * *

"The only being that will be able to bear you with the speed that you desire would be an eagle..." Legil-Galad said, having caught up with Tára in the hall.

"Swiftwing! You could call Swiftwing! Legolas made him promise something and I doubt that promise was fulfilled." Tára spoke rapidly over her shoulder at Legil-Galad, not noticing that he was ushering her towards his chambers. When they stopped outside the elf's door Tára stopped speaking.

"I need to only gather a few things and then I will be ready to go."

"You are coming with me?" Tára looked at the elf with a gleam of hope in her eyes.

"Believe me when I say that I am loath to have you out of my sight." With those words, Legil-Galad slipped into his chamber. He looked at the rooms that had been his home for millennia. It was time to say farewell, a thought that both thrilled and unnerved the elf. A small voice in the back of his head asked Legil-Galad if he had finally lost his mind. The elf did not need to think twice to answer his subconscious question. If given another chance to accompany Tára, he would still go. As for madness? That was yet to be seen.

With a grim sigh, Legil-Galad put together a pack of provisions. Once the pack was finished, Legil-Galad walked through his modest chamber, running his hands over various objects. The weapon rack he had carved when he first came to live in his brother's kingdom. A small wooden bird a young Legolas had carved for him when Legil-Galad was himself a young elf, visiting his brother in Greenwood for the first time. The scenes of the ocean and his former home in Lindon he had painted upon the walls with his own hands. He said farewell to each thing, moving to the trunk at the foot of his bed. Opening the large trunk, Legil-Galad took out his cloak. A delicate piece of silk caught the elf's eye. Legil-Galad picked up the smooth fabric, holding it to his face. The smell of the sea and wild flowers had long since faded though Legil-Galad could almost imagine the scent that long had reminded him of Hisimé. With a start, Legil-Galad realized that his heart did not ache as it once had at the reminder of his lost love. Sighing once again, Legil-Galad placed the silk back in the trunk, gently closing the lid. Legil-Galad could hear Tára in the hall, shuffling her feet anxiously. The elf clasped his cloak about his neck and shouldered his pack. The last item he took was his sword. With one final look, Legil-Galad left his chamber, shutting the door with a gentle click.

"Do you need to stop at your chambers for anything?" Legil-Galad asked as they began to walk. Tára shook her head to the negative, a preoccupied look in her eye. The pair was soon in the clearing of the palace courtyard. Tára squinted against the sunlight, not noticing that Legil-Galad spoke to one of the elven guards that surrounded the courtyard. A shrill whistle shot through the air, causing Tára to jump. Legil-Galad looked at Tára and smiled, though to the young woman, the expression looked strained.

"Legil-Galad, are you alright?" Tára asked, doubt starting to seep into her resolve. Legil-Galad turned to reply, though he was interrupted by a shout.

"An eagle comes, my lord." An elven guard called from his post. Seconds after the call, Tára saw a great shadow moving over the trees, eventually stopping before Legil-Galad. Looking up, Tára saw an eagle alight on the smooth stone of the palace courtyard.

"I see you have healed the youngling as well." the eagle spoke to Legil-Galad.

"Yes, she has healed well, Swiftwing though now we have need of your services." Legil-Galad looked back and smiled slightly at Tára, whose face had lit up at the mention of the eagle's name.

"What ever your request, I would be loath to decline." Swiftwing said, looking at Tára with one golden eye.

"We need you to bear us to Amon Hen with due haste." Tára said to the eagle, Legil-Galad's unease momentarily forgotten.

* * *

Something deep down inside Legil-Galad told him that he would not see his brother's kingdom again. The gift of foresight was not strong with him but something told the elf that his future would be full, very full. Though he was leaving what had been his home for many years, he could not deny that something about Tára drew him to her. That pull seemed to dull any pain Legil-Galad felt with leaving his brother's realm.

They had flown on Swiftwing for a full day, landing when the sun began to set. Swiftwing was able to carry the two but at the cost of his speed. Tára had reluctantly agreed to stop for the night, though she seemed as taut as a bowstring.

"What is bothering the wise-one?" Swiftwing asked Legil-Galad once Tára had fallen asleep.

"Truthfully, I am not sure. She would reveal only little to me." Legil-Galad sighed causing Swiftwing to cock a curious eye at the elf.

"You are reading too much into my words friend." Legil-Galad answered the eagle, though the question was not spoken. "She may be wise in the things of this world, but her heart is still young."

"She pines for that man of the Stone-city?" Swiftwing asked as he settled onto the ground. "With her battle scars, she should not worry or want for a life-mate." The eagle added.

"I'm not sure if you are right or wrong my young friend." Legil-Galad answered, not wanting to confirm the eagle's assumptions.

On the opposite side of the fire, Tára listened to the elf and eagle's conversation while a tear traced a path down her scarred cheek.

* * *

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat in their elven boats. They floated in the gentle chop of the lake Nan Hithoel. The trio looked to the falls of Rauros. Boromir's funeral boat floated smoothly towards the falls. Just as the boat crested the edge of the water, Legolas looked up sharply. A shadow passed over them, though it moved so quickly that the elf's companions seemed not to notice.

"It cannot be." Legolas' eyes followed the shadow, a strange look in his eyes.

"Look!" Gimli pointed a glove finger towards the falls. Just as the funeral boat disappeared, a great eagle dove out of the sky, its golden wings tucked close to its body. Before the great bird disappeared behind the falls, Legolas caught a glimpse of a fluttering black cloak next to a head of golden hair.

* * *

Tára hung on with all her might as Swiftwing dove towards the foot of the falls. The mist clung to Tára's face as she scanned the river. A silver boat soon floated out of the churning water, driven by the swift current. Swiftwing leveled out, gliding only inches above the water. Tára could not resist moving forward as the eagle flew over the elven boat, matching its speed.

"Go to him, for you will not rest well until you have said goodbye." Legil-Galad said quietly, removing his arm from around Tára's shoulders. Tára looked to her elven friend and then scooted forward to the edge of the eagle's wing. Tára leaned down trailing her fingers in the water. Boromir, peaceful and noble lay in the boat beneath her. He seemed to be encased in liquid crystal. Tára looked into Boromir's still face, the peaceful expression chilling her to the bone. Kissing her fingers, Tára placed her hand into the water, touching Boromir's cheek lightly.

"You are forgiven, friend." Tára said as Swiftwing pulled away from the water. Tára felt strong arms pull her back onto a safe place on Swiftwing's back. Legil-Galad kept his arm around Tára tightly, his heart troubled by the young woman's lack of tears.

* * *

Tára sat silently, starring at the flames of the small campfire. Her heart felt a mixture of grief and relief, though the grief felt stronger. Though she knew it would happen Tára wished she could have made a difference, done something to change Boromir. Tára inwardly cursed the evil of the Ring. She had read the accounts of the Ring war hundreds of times but now that she was seeing it in the flesh, it made anger burn within her. Tára looked up to the starry sky, trying to breath past the knot in her chest. In her heart, Tára knew that she had to decide her course. The occurrence of those thoughts brought more troubled feelings to Tára than seeing Boromir's lifeless body. If she truly was the Valar's messenger, why had they not shown her what to do? Why were they leaving her to find her way along blindly? Tára sighed and returned her gaze to the fire.

Legil-Galad watched Tára closely. A change had come over the young woman. He had hoped that the sight of the gondorian's body would resolve her turbulent emotions. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Tára, for she seemed to brood about something since the moment they landed for the night.

"What are you thinking, Tára?" Legil-Galad asked. Tára looked at the elf for a moment then shrugged.

"I think my course lies in the direction of Rohan." Tára said quietly.

"To Rohan? What purpose would you have there?"

Tára looked deeper into the flames and spoke without looking at her elven companion.

"I want to wait for my companions at Edoras."

Earlier, Tára had told Legil-Galad the most pertinent events that were happening in Middle Earth. Things pertaining to future events Tára did not elaborate on. She explained the current state of the Kingdom of the Horse lords though did not tell Legil-Galad about Gandalf's return or Théoden's healing.

"If what you told me is true, Edoras will not welcome us kindly unless the corrupt counselor is driven away. Your companions from the golden wood may not reach Edoras when you expect."

"When I said wait at Edoras, I actually meant hide." Tára's mouth quirked in a slightly cynical smile though the expression disappeared quickly. "It seems to be the only choice I have since the Valar have not shown me where to go." Tára's hard tone of voice caused Legil-Galad to study her for a moment. When the young woman would not meet his eyes, Legil-Galad spoke again.

"How do you propose to get there, for I doubt Swiftwing will want to carry us everywhere we go."

"You intend to stay with me?" Tára's dark mood lifted a little at Legil-Galad's words.

"I told you when we left my brother's realm that I was loath to let you out of my sight. I still feel that way." Tára looked at Legil-Galad when he said this, her expression unfathomable to the elf.

"Do not worry how we will get to Edoras for I feel that Swiftwing has yet to fulfill his promise to Legolas."

* * *

Legil-Galad sat silently across from Tára. The young woman had fallen silent hours earlier, though she did not sleep. The elf sighed. It was as if a great storm was nearing the edges of his heart, some foreboding of coming evil. He could tell Tára was angry though he decided that now was not the time to ask what was causing her dark mood. A sound broke Legil-Galad from his thoughts. Tára had drawn her sword and was holding the weapon on her lap.

"Tára..." Legil-Galad called the young woman's name. His breath caught when he saw Tára's eyes. Her eyes were the most piercing blue the elf had ever seen. They seemed to glow with a white flame. The elf then noticed Tára's exposed hands. They glowed a faint luminescent blue.

"What is it?" Tára looked at the elf quizzically.

"Look at your hands." Legil-Galad said quietly, watching Tára intently. Tára lifted her hands up to her face slowly.

"How can this be?" Tára looked at her hands as if they were something horrible. She removed the vambraces she wore, rolling up her sleeves. Her arms glowed as well with the same luminescent blue.

"What am I going to do? I can't walk among humans if I am glowing! I..."

"Tára." Legil-Galad said brusquely. The elf softened his tone when Tára looked at him with alarm.

"You will be fine. Look at me, my skin glows in the starlight." Legil-Galad rolled up his own sleeve, showing Tára that his skin did indeed glow, though not with the same intensity as Tára. Legil-Galad looked at Tára, noticing that her eyes hardened dangerously. The elf quickly changed the subject.

"We will go to Edoras as you have said. I trust what you have said, so we will wait for your companions there." Legil-Galad was relieved when Tára nodded her head to the affirmative, her eyes softening some.

"Rest now, for it is only a few hours until sunrise." Legil-Galad said, hoping that he sounded surer than he felt.

* * *

Swiftwing returned at sunrise as he had promised. Legil-Galad and Tára had been ready for the great bird, so they were able to set off quickly. They had now been flying for a few hours.

"We will need to disguise ourselves if we are to even gain entry to Edoras. Neither you or I are clothed so that we might fit in."

"We do not posses any other clothes save for the one on our backs." Legil-Galad said, looking at Tára. The young woman beside him did not seem to hear what the elf had said. Her eyes were focused on a spot on the horizon.

"Smoke," Tára said. "Swiftwing, fly towards the smoke!" Tára scooted forward as the eagle increased his speed.

The outskirts of the village came into view, and soon, Tára found that she could barely breathe, for the smoke blew into their faces. Swiftwing dove below the black cloud, landing lightly on the ground. Tára slid off the eagles back, drawing her sword. Legil-Galad followed her, unsheathing his sword as well.

"Hello, is anyone there?" Tára called. Around the pair flames crackled, eating away at houses and barns. Legil-Galad stepped in front of Tára, walking farther into the town.

"Who goes there?"

Legil-Galad whirled around to face the source of the sound. What met them was the blood and grime smeared face of a woman, peering out of the doors of what seemed to be a cellar. Tára and Legil-Galad approached the woman, though they kept their weapons drawn.

"Please, we need help." The woman spoke, gesturing down into the cellar.

"What happened here?" Legil-Galad asked. The woman seemed to visibly quail at Legil-Galad's voice. Tára looked behind Legil-Galad to see what had caused the woman's distress. In the distance, a group of wild men and Uruks burst out of a barn at the opposite end of the village. The wild men of the group, laughed amongst themselves, their clothes and faces smeared with gore. Tára's blood ran cold when she saw that two men in the middle of the group were dragging a young woman away from the burning barn. The young woman struggled against her captors, though she froze when she noticed the ring of uruks around the men.

"They have Beyhild!" the woman shrieked in rohirric, reaching out to grab Tára's arm. Tára stepped away, instead motioning the woman to return to the cellar. Legil-Galad looked at Tára questioningly. The elf instantly knew what Tára wanted to do. When the cellar door was bolted securely, Tára walked out into the middle of the town. The group of men and uruks was no more than a bowshot away from Tára and Legil-Galad when they noticed the pair. A raucous laughter drifted from the group.

"So, the village wants to fight us now. It is a shame that we wasted our talent on you earlier." A large Wildman spoke from the head of the group.

"You will trouble this village no longer and you will not harm the girl." Tára spoke loudly, motioning at the woman the wild men still held.

Without warning, the high-pitched whistle of an arrow sounded over the crackle of the nearby flames. Legil-Galad watched in wonder as Tára dodged the projectile deftly. An enraged cry rang from the offending group. Tára took her battle stance as the Wildmen rushed forward. Legil-Galad watched with growing apprehension, noticing that the uruks stayed behind the Wildmen, as if they waited for something. Legil-Galad lunged forward as the first Wildman raised his weapon. The Wildman fell without so much as a cry. Tára and Legil-Galad dispatched all of the Wildmen in a matter of minutes. The only sound that Tára heard was the crackle of the flames and the clinking of metal as the uruks shifted in expectation. One of the uruks now held the woman from the barn. The beast smirked at Tára when she began to move his direction. As if from far away, Tára heard her name.

"Tára!"

Tára spun around as Legil-Galad yelled, a broad uruk blade sailing past her face. With a backwards thrust, Tára drove her sword through the beast.

Before they knew it, the foul creatures surrounded Tára and Legil-Galad. Legil-Galad was soon separated from Tára. To the elf's alarm, the majority of the uruks seemed intent on Tára's demise. Legil-Galad's head jerked backwards as an elbow hit him in the face, causing the elf to see stars. The uruk responsible for the blow was already swinging his counter attack. Legil-Galad rolled below the uruk's blade, slicing at the creature's midsection. Legil-Galad fought towards Tára, slicing down every uruk in his path. With a mighty swing, Legil-Galad felled the final uruk. The elf turned, his chest heaving, to find Tára pulling her sword out of an uruk on the ground. The creature still clutched the arm of the young rohirric woman. She struggled away from the uruk's death-grip, looking at Tára with fear.

"Tára, are you hurt?" Legil-Galad asked, laying a hand on the young woman's shoulder. To the elf's surprise, Tára jerked at his touch, spinning around to face Legil-Galad. Tára's eyes sent a chill down the elf's spine. They had not changed from the night before but now they shone with an unearthly light. The young woman's expression changed instantly when she saw Legil-Galad. Reaching up, Tára wiped blood away from Legil-Galad's mouth.

"You are hurt." Tára's concerned gaze caused a strange reaction in the elf. Legil-Galad caught Tára's hand in his, wiping the remainder of the blood away with his own hands.

"I will be fine," Legil-Galad said, studying Tára. Tára looked into the elf's eyes, seeing almost instantly Legil-Galad's concern, and for a heartbeat, another emotion Tára could not put her finger on. Legil-Galad turned away suddenly. Tára shook her head, finally hearing the weeping of many people. The surviving villagers now crept out of their hiding places. Surprisingly, most were women. A matronly woman detached herself from the main group, walking with a limp towards Tára.

"We are in your debt, Elf blade." The woman said, speaking to Tára.

"You owe me little, though I am honored by your trust." Tára answered, looking away from the stares of the villagers.

"You have the scars of a warrior for one so young." The woman said quietly, studying Tára. Tára turned towards the woman, ignoring her comment.

"All we ask then is one night of respite and a change of clothes for both of us." Tára said, earning a surprised look from the woman.

"Your request will be honored." The spokeswoman replied. Tára nodded her approval, looking around. Her eyes found Legil-Galad's quickly. The elf only looked at her, the same indescribable emotion in his eyes. With a sigh, Tára looked away from the elf.

"Let's put these fires out." Tára said, walking to a scorched rain barrel. With some relief, Tára threw herself into her work, driving her tumultuous thoughts away for the moment.

* * *

Only a few houses were salvageable. The consensus of the villagers was that they would head to the safety of Helm's Deep. Tára marveled at the villager's unflagging trust in the ancient stronghold, though she kept her thoughts to herself.

Legil-Galad had taken the task of removing the bodies of the slain uruks and Wildmen from the center of the town. The villagers had refused to allow the bodies to be burned in the fire of their homes, so now the elf tended the gruesome blaze on the edge of the village. Tára wandered out to see how Legil-Galad was doing. Dodging the foul pillar of smoke, Tára found herself on the opposite side of the blaze. To her surprise, the elf was nowhere near the fire. Legil-Galad stood on the edge of a bluff, looking towards the setting sun. Tára took a moment to observe the elf. The wind stirred Legil-Galad's hair, causing the golden mass to catch the rays of the setting sun. In the fading light, Tára thought that she had never seen anything so beautiful. The elf turned, ending Tára's contemplation. Tára looked away quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

"Tára," Legil-Galad moved towards the young woman, genuinely glad to see her.

Tára looked up, shocked by the grime that coated Legil-Galad's face, compared to the scene she had witnessed moments before. The elf must have noticed her reaction for he stopped before Tára and smiled self-consciously.

"I was just coming to see how you were doing. I am of no further need to the villagers now." Tára said, walking to where Legil-Galad had previously stood. Tára suddenly felt the weariness of the day settle on her. Sitting down, Tára shivered as the sun disappeared below the horizon. Legil-Galad sat down next to Tára.

"Are you truly all right?" Legil-Galad asked, turning a little to look at the young woman at his side. She had her chin in her hand and her eyes were almost shut.

"I am tired, Legil-Galad, though I don't want to go back." Tára said quietly. She turned to the elf, seeing the question in his eyes. "The people call me 'Elf-blade' and 'warrior.' I don't like it."

"Why is that?" Legil-Galad asked, surprised when Tára's look turned to anger.

"Because I'm only those things because of the Valar! I have done nothing on my own! I am only a great warrior because of them and I am scarred because of them! I will never be the same, Legil-Galad. Never!" Tára said, pulling a handful of grass out by the roots. "How would you feel if you suddenly became a pawn in the Valar's hands? I don't even know who I am anymore. Who I was has become lost in their 'blessing.'" Tára said, her last word ringing with distaste.

"I cannot speak for the Valar, Tára." Legil-Galad said. "But perhaps you are looking at this the wrong way?" the elf held up a hand when Tára took a breath to protest. "Perhaps the Valar chose you because of who you _were_ in your former life? Perhaps they saw who you would become under their blessing and it pleased them?" Legil-Galad looked at Tára, smiling in spite of her stormy look. With a sigh, Tára's entire being seemed to deflate.

"I am sorry, Legil-Galad. I know it's not of your doing." Tára said quietly.

"Think nothing of it." Legil-Galad said quietly.

The pair sat in silence until the stars came out. Legil-Galad did not remember when it had happened but Tára now leaned on the elf's shoulder, fast asleep. The elf had his arms around the young woman to keep her upright. Though the air was chilly, Legil-Galad held Tára many hours into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Once again, I have to clarify an issue I had with my heroine's name, if you did not chance to see my notes on the previous chapters. Something was bothering me about Hodoer's name and I just couldn't figure it out. I searched and searched until I found a reliable Quenya dictionary. I realized my problem very quickly and it almost made me sick to my stomach. Hodoer is not Tolkein elvish! AT ALL! I feel terrible to have made such a blundering mistake and I ask all my reader's pardon and hope that you have not lost faith in my aspiring skills as a writer. Hodoer's name is now "Tára." It is a Quenya form for the word "wise" so it still works... To be honest, its a lot more feminine and I think it works better for my character. So, without further ado, on with the story!

* * *

Tára stood in the midst of a milling crowd, though all the faces of the people around her seemed to be blurred in a mist. The skies above Tára were grey and raining at a steady drizzle. Tára turned in a full circle, realizing that she was in the streets of Minas Tirith. Her Minas Tirith now called the King's City.

As Tára turned, her eyes caught on a rough structure. The structure was wood and seemed to have been hastily constructed. With dread Tára realized that the structure was a gallows. Moving towards its base, Tára saw that a piece of parchment was nailed to the base of the gallows.

"Execution dates?" Tára read the parchment. Moving down the paper, Tára's eyes froze on one name.

"Xander...?"

An image of a dangling body and a jeering crowd suddenly flashed before Tára's eyes. Tára cried out as she saw that the body belonged to her brother.

"Tára!"

Tára jerked awake, cold, and shivering. Legil-Galad knelt at her side, his hand upon her shoulder. Tára looked around, not remembering how she had gotten into the village after she had fallen asleep. She sat up slowly, looking around. Across the room of the house, several villagers sat huddled together, watching Tára warily.

"What happened?" Tára asked in elvish.

"You were crying out in your sleep and you did not sound like yourself." Legil-Galad answered in his native tongue.

"What do you mean?" Tára ran her hand over her face, struggling to get her eyes to focus.

As an answer to her question, Legil-Galad motioned for them to exit the house. Tára stood up, feeling slightly dizzy, and followed the elf out the door. With a hand to her back, Legil-Galad guided Tára to one of the remaining rain barrels.

"Look at your face."

Tára looked into the inky blackness of the barrel, only to pull back quickly.

"My eyes, they look..."

"Disturbing? Powerful? They have changed once and now they have changed again. When you cried out, you opened your eyes though you were still asleep. When you opened your eyes, they seemed to be pure white. Like the hottest flame of fire."

Tára looked back into the barrel and then back at Legil-Galad.

"Do they look any better?" Tára asked Legil-Galad, feeling a little more awake.

"They are now blue again." Legil-Galad looked intently at Tára. "What were you dreaming?"

A wave of nausea washed over Tára and she sat down suddenly, remembering her nightmare. Legil-Galad knelt by her quickly placing a cool hand on Tára's scarred cheek.

"My brother," Tára stopped to swallow. "My brother was hanged...in my dream."

Intense sympathy and pity overwhelmed Legil-Galad, for he knew that dreams could seem as true as real life happenings.

"Do not worry for your brother, for dreams are just that, dreams." Legil-Galad looked at Tára until she met the elf's eyes. Legil-Galad smiled reassuringly at the young woman, noticing that her hands shook.

Tára looked over her shoulder to the east. The horizon was starting to turn pink. A shadow of a great bird passed over the village.

"Swiftwing is here." Tára said, trying to sound normal. Her heart still raced and the feeling of panic had not abated. What was happening to her brother and father? Would she ever see them again? Tára's mind swirled with her unanswered questions until Legil-Galad spoke.

"The village will be waking soon." Legil-Galad said, standing.

"I won't scare them off will I?" Tára asked her panic rising to the surface.

Legil-Galad smiled. "I don't think that you would scare anyone off, save uruks."

Tára stood and turned away from the elf, felling slightly self-conscious.

"I'll gather our things. You should stay and rest until I get back." Legil-Galad said. The elf placed his hands on Tára's shoulders, gently pushing her down. Tára complied, sitting against the rain barrel again.

"Do not wander off." Legil-Galad said, giving Tára a kind but pointed look. Tára nodded as Legil-Galad walked away.

Leaning against the rain barrel, Tára was mostly hidden from the villager's eyes. The arrangement though, was to her liking. Tára could tell that they were talking about her and it made her feel uneasy. More of the villagers came out of the houses around her, some seeing Tára in spite of her hiding place. One woman grabbed the hand of her small child when he stopped and pointed at Tára. The mother said something stern to the little boy and quickly walked away, pulling the lad in her wake. Tára did not blame the people for their obvious fear of her and Legil-Galad though it still grated on her. Tára started to look around, hoping that Legil-Galad would return with her things quickly. Tára finally spotted the elf talking to the woman that had become the spokesperson for the remaining villagers. The woman handed Legil-Galad two bundles of clothing that the elf added to his already full armload. As the elf walked towards Tára, she was struck, with how fortunate she had been to meet Legil-Galad. Though their friendship was only a few weeks old, something about Legil-Galad made Tára feel as if she had known the elf her whole life.

"Our payment." Legil-Galad said, holding a grey bundle out to Tára. Unwrapping the bundle, Tára found that the grey material was a cloak. Inside the cloak was a blue dress and belt. Standing, Tára spotted a small woodshed that had escaped the fire. Tára walked to the small hut, opening the door cautiously. When all seemed to be well, Tára stepped inside.

"Watch the door for me." Tára said to Legil-Galad, who only raised an eyebrow then turned his back to the door.

Tára dressed quickly. She realized upon unfolding the dress that it was split into a riding skirt, allowing her to wear her hose and boots from the elves. Tára was pleased with the village woman's choice and decided to thank her.

_If I see her again._ Tára thought. Tára wanted to leave this village sooner rather than later and she doubted the villagers would want or care for her and Legil-Galad's farewell. The sooner they arrived in Edoras, the better. Tára felt her mood lighten minutely at the thought of seeing Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli again.

Her disguise in place, the last thing Tára did was strap on her sword. She had the strongest urge to throw the weapon, as far away from her as possible, though Tára knew deep down that would change nothing. At the very least, Tára had grudgingly come to appreciate the weapon's presence at her side.

"Your turn." Tára said, swinging the door open. Legil-Galad stood with his back to the door as before, though he was now wearing the villager's clothes.

"Are you ready?" the elf asked, mischief flitting across his face for a moment.

"Very clever." Tára said, studying the elf. He had abandoned his forest green tunic and hose and now wore a rough spun tunic and brown pants. Though for the plainness of the clothes, Legil-Galad still looked regal. A slight breeze wafted the elf's hair over his shoulder, drawing Tára's gaze.

"Everything about you looks right, except for your hair and ears." Tára said, smiling a little.

"What do you mean?" Legil-Galad was genuinely stumped. Tára thought back to all the things she knew of the Kingdom of Rohan, trying to find a way to explain what she wanted to Legil-Galad.

"The men of Rohan do not pull all the hair away from their face. They pull their hair back just above their temples."

Legil-Galad chuckled. "Do you think it really matters?"

"Yes. If you wear your hair like the Rohirrim, it will cover your rather noticeable ears." Tára looked at Legil-Galad, smiling at the elf again. Legil-Galad only rolled his eyes, walked over to a log, and sat down.

"Fine, if I have to change my hair, you can arrange it."

Tára felt the urge to laugh at the elf's childlike behavior, her dark mood forgotten for the moment. She walked over to Legil-Galad, who had already loosed his golden locks from their warrior's braids. Without further thought, Tára set to work. She found out very quickly that she liked Legil-Galad's hair. It was thick and smooth and stayed wherever it was placed, sliding smoothly through Tára's fingers. All the while, Legil-Galad watched Tára. Her face was close to his as she combed her fingers through his hair. She had a businesslike expression on her face though the look was not unpleasant. After a few moments of study, the elf noticed the delicate arch of her eyebrows, the almond shape of her eyes, the small lines at the corners of her mouth that appeared when Tára smiled, the three grisly scars. Those scars! How Legil-Galad wished he could make those ugly red marks disappear. With Tára so close, Legil-Galad could see how deep the scars still were, how angry and red her once smooth skin was. A person so young should not have to live life with a face so marred. A small crease appeared between Tára's eyebrows, catching Legil-Galad's eye and pulling the elf from his thoughts. Legil-Galad had the strongest urge to rub that crease away. Suddenly, Tára's eyes came up to Legil-Galad's and the elf was thankful he had not acted on his impulse. For a moment, vulnerability flashed so strong in Tára's eyes that the elf froze. Tára stepped back from the elf quickly, her expression becoming slightly guarded. Legil-Galad looked at Tára questioningly.

"That should do, though I think it would be safe for you to wear your cloak when we are in Edoras." Tára said. Legil-Galad noticed a quiver in her voice but did not comment. Legil-Galad stood, swirling his cloak around him to land on his shoulders.

"Then we are off to Edoras?" Legil-Galad said, strapping on his sword. Tára's only answer was a nod. Legil-Galad followed the young woman to the center of the village. The elf turned to Tára as if he just remembered something. Tára was surprised when Legil-Galad took hold of her chin, tilting her face so that he could look into her eyes.

"When we get to Edoras, be careful who you look at, for I doubt any rearranging of hair can hide your eyes." The elf smiled, releasing Tára's chin. The elf ran a gentle finger along the edge of Tára's jaw, resting briefly on her scars. Legil-Galad turned away, as if catching himself, missing the hurt expression on Tára's face. The elf started to walk toward the edge of the town, a storm brewing in his heart.

* * *

With a mighty leap, Swiftwing sailed away from Legil-Galad and Tára. Legil-Galad cried an elvish farewell to the eagle, which was answered with a resounding cry from Swiftwing. Tára looked to the west, catching sight of Edoras. The city was just a tiny golden speck against the distant mountains. Tára looked to Legil-Galad, who watched her expectantly. The elf lord had been silent most of the time since they had left the burnt village. Tára had not felt like pressing him with questions because for some reason, Tára knew he was thinking of her.

"Are you up for a walk?" Tára said, feeling slightly awkward with Legil-Galad for the first time. Once again, the elf merely nodded, keeping silent. They walked for some time in silence until Tára could barely stand it anymore. To her relief, Legil-Galad finally spoke.

"When we enter Edoras, how do you propose to find lodgings?" Legil-Galad asked. The elf looked at Tára and smiled, his expression lightening some.

"The state of Edoras, sadly, is near to ruin. Any sort of trinket that is worth something may at least allow us to share a loft with their animal's hay." Tára looked at Legil-Galad as she said this, noticing the worried look return to the elf's face.

"The only trinkets of value that we have are the broaches to our cloaks and the Gondorian's ring. That, I know, you will not part with." This last sentence was said in a strange tone of voice for Legil-Galad, causing Tára to look at him.

"Then we will give away the brooches." Tára said, quailing at the thought of giving away Boromir's ring.

Their conversation failed, blanketing the pair again in silence. The league journey soon melted away. Before they knew it, they stood before the entrance to the outer fence of the city. A sinking feeling settled in Tára as four burly men stepped across their path. The men were not dressed as soldiers of Rohan but rather they wore all black.

"A toll is required for passage into the city." One man spoke. Legil-Galad looked to Tára. The young woman's expression was decidedly unreadable.

"We have no money. We have fled the Eastfold to seek refuge here." Tára said, keeping her face downcast. One of the men stooped to look under her hood but Tára turned away.

"Ah, I see that you own some jewelry. A refugee has no need of such trinkets. Hand it over." The man pointed at Tára's chest with a meaty finger. The change in the burly man's voice was alarming. Tára looked down to see that Boromir's ring lay outside of her dress. Tára unconsciously stepped backwards. The man, thinking Tára was running, lunged forward, grabbing for the ring. Before the man knew what was happening, he was kneeling on the ground struggling for breath.

"You would do well to keep your hands away from the lady." Legil-Galad said with barely disguised anger. The three other men seemed to come to their senses, lunging at the elf. They were all quickly driven to their knees, debilitated by powerful blows to the weak points in their bodies.

"That wasn't quite the entrance I wanted to make." Tára said in elvish, though when Legil-Galad looked at the young woman, she was smiling faintly. Legil-Galad gave Tára a look that would silence a thunderstorm.

"Psst!"

Legil-Galad spun around, looking in the direction of the sound. A small boy waved at Tára and Legil-Galad, and then ran a short distance away. Tára shrugged, stepping over the men in the gate. Legil-Galad had no choice but to follow.

The boy ran between two houses then peeked out expectantly at the pair. Quickening her pace, Tára was soon standing in front of the boy.

"My Grandmother wants you to stay with her. She says that you already paid for your stay by beating the Wormtongue's men." The boy smiled impishly, obviously taking his share of enjoyment from the scene as well.

"Where is this woman?" Legil-Galad asked. The boy walked to the front of the house on their right. Upon the front porch sat an old woman. They had passed her before without even noticing her.

"My grandson has extended the invitation?" the old woman cackled, raising her head to reveal nearly white eyes. Tára immediately voiced the question that was on her mind.

"How did you know what happened at the gate?"

The old woman laughed in an unnerving cackle. "Eonsted is my sight."

Legil-Galad looked at Tára with something akin to alarm in his eyes. Tára only shrugged.

"My offer still stands." The old woman said.

"I think we will accept your offer." Tára said, watching the expressions chase across Legil-Galad's face.

* * *

Two days had passed since Tára and Legil-Galad came to Edoras. News of their arrival had spread quickly, though no one said where they were staying. This fact alone worried Legil-Galad. Something about the old woman unsettled the elf. At times Legil-Galad felt as if the old woman had an aura of shadow around her though it was so faint at times, that he thought he was imagining things. Another thing that worried Legil-Galad was Tára. She seemed to become more and more agitated as the days went by. When Legil-Galad asked Tára about it, Tára would disguise it as anticipation then fall silent for most of the day. Legil-Galad only hoped that the remaining days in Edoras would pass quickly.

* * *

Something pulled Legil-Galad out of his meditation. The elf looked around hearing the rattling breath of the old woman below him. Looking across at Tára's pallet, Legil-Galad's heart jumped. Tára was gone.

"Ai, by the sea and stars." The elf muttered. Legil-Galad leapt deftly from the loft that served as their room. He reached the door quickly, making no noise. Cautiously, Legil-Galad opened the door. Relief washed over the elf at the sight of the stars. The thatched roofs of Rohan shut out all light from the moon and stars. Though he had lived in a mountain palace and forest for many years, Legil-Galad had always been able to see the stars. Though they wheeled through the sky with the times and seasons, they were always an anchor to Legil-Galad, a little piece of normalcy in his battle-scarred life. Taking a deep breath, Legil-Galad looked around, seeing a faint glow coming from the stable attached to the house. Legil-Galad entered the stable, spotting Tára quickly.

The young woman stood with her back to Legil-Galad. She leant on the edge of a stall door, petting an old but well cared for horse.

"I could not sleep" Tára said in elvish, turning to face Legil-Galad. The elf could not contain the gasp that escaped him. Tára's skin glowed the pale blue color that the elf had seen before. Tára's eyes though, sent chills down Legil-Galad's spine. They were almost completely white save for a pale blue ring marking Tára's iris.

"Are you alright?" Legil-Galad asked, noticing that a silver trail of tears ran down Tára's cheek. "Come back to the house with me; you need your rest."

"No."

"What?" Legil-Galad walked up to Tára, laying a hand on her arm. Her skin was cold.

"I said no. Sleep only torments me." Tára looked away from Legil-Galad.

"You dream of the Gondorian?" Legil-Galad asked quietly. Tára shook her head, turning away from the elf. The horse in the stall nudged Tára's hand as she continued stroking the animal.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see fire and destruction." Tára said quietly.

"A premonition of war?" Legil-Galad felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

"Premonitions of suffering, though not of this age."

"Do you know when this..." Legil-Galad could not finish his sentence for Tára cut him off.

"I do not know! All I know is that every time I dream, the greatest feeling of dread comes over me. I see fire and destruction. People that I love dying. Why am I tormented like this? What am I supposed to do? I cannot take this… I..." Tára gripped the edge of the stall door, covering her face with her hand. Legil-Galad took hold of Tára's shoulders, turning her gently toward him.

"Do not despair. Though it seems unclear, your course will be revealed in due time. The Valar did not choose you to set you loose without a course. All will be well in time." Legil-Galad lifted Tára's face, brushing her tears away with his thumb. He ran his finger along the edge of one of Tára's scars. Tára brushed the elf's hands away angrily, causing Legil-Galad to drop his hand in shock.

"Why do you do that?" Tára asked, her voice dangerously close to a sob. "Why must you always look at me like that?"

"Tára, I did not mean to cause you pain. I would take your scars if I could. I would take your place if it was in my power." Legil-Galad said quietly, taken aback by Tára's hostility.

"Would you? Would you take these scars on yourself? You, an immortal and first-born of Ilúvatar. You were born blessed. You would take my place? A mortal, out of my own world, with nothing to give but what the Valar have bestowed on me?" Tára angrily brushed away the tears that had now spilled over, not noticing that Legil-Galad had stepped closer. "I am not a part of this time, Legil-Galad. If I ever return to my home, all people will see are the scars. People of my time are too vain to see past what is in front of them. I will never fit in. Ever. How could the Valar curse me like this?" Tára searched Legil-Galad's face, hoping for an answer she knew she would not find.

"Tára, you have to trust me. I would never lie to you. My soul aches for the hurt you have endured and will still endure." Legil-Galad gripped Tára's shoulder gently, holding the young woman's gaze. Tára stared into Legil-Galad's forest-green eyes, expecting to see pity. What she saw though was compassion. Tára looked away, ashamed of her angry words.

"Why would the Valar let this happen to me if I am so 'special' to them?" Tára asked quietly, sounding like a lost child.

"I do not have the answers you seek." Legil-Galad said, quietly. "All I can say is follow your heart and have faith that things will be revealed in due time." The elf continued to look at Tára, the truth shining in his eyes. Tára stared into Legil-Galad's eyes for a few silent moments then suddenly leant her head upon the elf's chest.

"Forgive me, Legil-Galad." Tára looked up at the elf, her scarred face pained.

For a moment, Legil-Galad could not speak. Finally with a deep breath, he spoke.

"There is nothing to forgive." The elf said quietly.

More tears flooded Tára's eyes as Legil-Galad wrapped his arms around her in an embrace.


	12. Chapter 12

_Tára stood on the seashore, relishing in the peaceful sound of the waves. Looking down, Tára buried her toes in the warm sand. It had been so long since she had been to the ocean and the briny smell was a tonic to her soul. Looking around, Tára noticed that she was alone on the shore. She wasn't worried though. She had not felt this safe since she had come to Lothlorien. With a sigh, Tára sat in the sand, letting the sea breeze blow her hair away from her face. _

_"__Why do you fight us?" a deep, gentle voice spoke. Tára jumped up, looking around for the person speaking. She could see no one. _

_"__Why do you fight us, little one?" the voice asked again. "We chose you from all the children of men because you believed in us. We have blessed you with the skills of the greatest warrior and protected you through many trials. Have you lost your faith in us?"_

_Tára felt anger build in her chest. "I have not stopped believing in you but why did you bring me here? Why are you leaving me to find my way blindly? Why did you let __**this**__ happen to me?" Tára said, pointing to her face. She could feel tears starting to run down her face. The breeze blew and for a moment, there was no answer. Then, as soft as a whisper, the voice spoke again._

_"__Trust us."_

Tára jerked awake, her pulse racing. She reached up to her face, feeling the wetness of tears. She wiped them away quickly, casting a look towards Legil-Galad. The elf stared at the thatched ceiling, his eyes seeming to cloud over. He was asleep, or at least elven equivalent of sleep.

Tára sat with her back against the wall of the loft, her heart still pounding in her chest. As quietly as she could, Tára unsheathed her sword, gazing at her reflection in the cool steel. Her eyes stared back at her, as she had expected, the same intense blue as before. Tára shivered, not able meet her own reflected gaze. The scars on her face made her stand out enough without her eyes looking like blue flames.

Letting out a sigh, Tára looked over to Legil-Galad again. She envied the elf's ability to have peaceful rest, the dream she had woken from still ringing in her mind.

_Trust us._ The words were barely audible but they still rang in Tára's mind as if they were shouted.

_Trust them? Legil-Galad would trust them. _Tára thought bitterly. Legil-Galad sighed, drawing Tára out of her thoughts. She looked at the elf, seeing his hands twitch. For the first time, Tara noticed how scarred and battered his hands and knuckles were. She remembered how he had incapacitated Wormtongue's men when they arrived and realized his scars must have been from his military training. A memory came to Tára unbidden and she had to stifle an unexpected chuckle. Her brother was always one to pull pranks but one time he had not counted on Tára's reaction. She had lashed out in surprise, punching her bother square in the jaw. Xander had been none the worse for wear, though Tára had split her knuckle. Looking at her right hand, Tára found the familiar scar. As she studied her hand, homesickness welled up in Tára's chest so suddenly it took her breath away. She fought back tears, not wanting to disturb Legil-Galad. To distract herself, Tára once again studied Legil-Galad. After a moment of listening to the elf's rhythmic breathing, Tára felt herself calming. Looking through the miniscule portal in the thatching, Tára noticed with relief the faint pink glow of the rising sun. Only a few more hours, and Tára and Legil-Galad could come out of hiding. Tára leaned her head back against the wall with a sigh, not knowing when she fell back asleep.

* * *

_Flames licked at Tára's feet. All around her, houses burned and crumbled. People ran about in terror. _

_A great whistling noise sounded over Tára. She looked up, fear overwhelming her. A giant orb of flame sped towards Tára. She cried out, unable to move to safety. _

"Tára!"

Tára jerked her head up, scrabbling for her sword. Strong hands stopped her movement making Tára panic.

"Tára, stop! You were only dreaming."

"What? Oh," Tára looked into the concerned face of Legil-Galad. He smiled at her, any evidence that their conversation the night before bothered the elf remained unseen. Legil-Galad sat back, casually brushing a piece of Tára's hair out of her eyes.

"Did you sleep at all, _meldë?" _Legil-Galad studied the dark circles under Tára's eyes, a worried look on his face.

"I slept a little." Tára said. Her dream of the ocean shore came back to her and she looked away from Legil-Galad. She did not want to explain to the elf that the Valar had spoken to her. Her pride would not allow her to admit that Legil-Galad had been right. Legil-Galad looked like he was about to ask Tára what she was hiding when he suddenly snapped to attention.

"Listen." Legil-Galad said.

Tára sat still, hearing the faint sound of a horse running through the street. Tára jumped down from the loft, running out of the house. A rider dressed all in black flew past the house, kicking and cursing at his horse to run faster. Tára watched as the rider disappeared from her sight then she turned and looked up the hill to the hall of Meduseld. She saw a crowd of villagers bowing at the feet of a man. King Théoden stood on the steps, a drawn sword still in his hand. The wind picked up his tattered robe as he turned to another man beside him. A thrill shot through Tára as she recognized the man beside the king.

"They're here!"

Tára turned to run back into the house, nearly running into Legil-Galad. The elf put a hand out to steady her and Tára realized that his other arm held all their meager belongings. With a smile, Tára threw her cloak on and shouldered her pack. As she strapped on her sword, Tára noticed the old woman and her grandson standing just outside the door of their house. They had been nearly nonexistent during the time Tára and Legil-Galad had borrowed their loft and Tára was surprised to see them. Smiling, Tára walked up to the old woman.

"I thank you for your hospitality." Tára said, reaching out her hand to the old woman.

"No thanks are necessary." The old woman took Tára's hand with surprising alacrity, a strange look coming over her wizened face. Tára felt a strange burning feeling start to run up her arm and she pulled away quickly.

"Thank you again." Tára said, taking a step away from the old woman. The crone merely smiled, waving Tára away. Looking to the woman's grandson, Tára could not help but shudder at the child's expression. The boy seemed to look through Tára and when he noticed her scrutiny, he smirked and walked back inside the house.

"Let's go." Tára said, turning to Legil-Galad. The elf only nodded, looking behind Tára one last time. After another quick glance over her shoulder, Tára turned away from the old woman and started the walk up the hill.

The old woman stood on her porch for a few moments, listening to the disappearing footsteps of the young woman and elf. She was thankful she had lost her sight long ago, for she did not wish to see the face of the one called Tára, or the elf for that matter. From that one touch, she knew who Tára was, and she knew her master would not be pleased. With a sigh, the old woman shuffled indoors.

"Eonsted, where are you?" the old woman listened, hearing the quick patter of the boys feet.

"I am here. What do you need?" The boy took the old woman's hand, looking into her milky eyes expectantly.

"Tell the Master that _They_ have chosen their messenger and that she walks among us." The old woman felt Eonsted drop her hand and he walked away quickly. She turned away from the boy, knowing that the dark spirit in him would complete the task quickly. As she walked the familiar path through the house to the kitchen, the old woman listened with satisfaction to the dark words rolling out of the young boy. She heard a soft thump from the other room and knew that the task was done. Opening a small cupboard, the old woman took out a loaf of bread and some seed cakes. She shuffled back to Eonsted, knowing the boy would be famished once he woke.

* * *

Legolas looked out across Edoras from the steps of Meduseld. The elf looked around the city below, noticing that most of the houses looked faded and desolate. The signs of poverty and neglect were everywhere, though the people of the city now scurried about with a newfound energy. Their king had been healed and Wormtongue had been driven away.

Raising his eyes to the mountains, Legolas thought of the events of the morning. Théoden's revival had been nothing short of spectacular. Gandalf had truly become powerful. Legolas was glad that the Valar had seen fit to send the wizard back to them. Middle Earth still needed Gandalf's wisdom and courage in these darkening days. The wind gusted against Legolas, bringing the many scents of the grassy plain up to the elf. Taking a deep breath, Legolas turned away from the plains and looked to the Golden Hall. A Royal guard stood on the stone steps, blocking the path of two cloaked figures. Legolas studied the pair; there was something familiar about them.

"I am sorry, only guests of the king are allowed." The guards said, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. He cast a dark look at the shorter of the two people, who kept leaning around the guard.

"We mean no one harm. We only wish to reunite with our comrades. Please, could you just tell them that..."

"I am sorry." The guard interrupted his voice sharp. "The king is not taking any more visitors!"

The shorter of the two stepped back, their cloak moving to show a sword at their waist. The pommel of the sword caught the sunlight, flashing sapphire blue. Legolas stepped forward, not believing his eyes.

"Tára?" Legolas asked, walking towards the trio on the stairs.

The shorter of the cloaked figures looked up sharply, pulling back their hood. Legolas' heart leapt with joy. It was indeed Tára, though what the elf saw made his breath catch. The three diagonal scars that marred Tára's face froze Legolas' smile. The elf wanted to weep and rage in anger all at the same time. How did this happen? Who was responsible? Legolas knew that if whoever harmed Tára was still alive, he would personally hunt the monster down and exact revenge. Realizing that he was being watched, Legolas schooled his features quickly, not wanting Tára to see his inner turmoil. The young woman sidestepped the guard in front of her, rushing up to the elven prince. As soon as she was within an arm's length, Legolas pulled Tára into a fierce embrace.

"_Mellonin_, it is so good to see you." Tára said against the elven prince's chest. Legolas chuckled at her muffled greeting and pulled back, looking Tára up and down.

"What have you done little one?" Legolas asked. The elven prince ran a finger gently over the scar on Tára's forehead. Tára looked away from Legolas quickly, bringing a hand to her face self-consciously.

"Legil-Galad and I have much to tell you." Tára said, looking behind her at the other elf.

Legolas stepped back at Tára's words. "Legil-Galad?"

"You have heard correctly." Legil-Galad said, casting back his own hood. The elf lord walked up to Legolas and clasped his hand onto his kinsman's shoulder.

"Indeed, there is much we must speak of." Legolas said, noticing a strange shadow in Legil-Galad's eyes. His kinsman gave a nearly imperceptible nod to Legolas, promising answers later.

"Come, we must find Aragorn and Gimli. Follow me." Legolas said, turning towards the Golden Hall. Tára and Legil-Galad followed Legolas gladly, leaving a stunned royal guard in their wake.

* * *

"What? You can't be serious?"

Tára could not help but smile at the sound of the dwarf's voice. It seemed like ages since Tára had been in Lórien.

The door Tára stood behind suddenly flew open, causing her to leap backwards. Legil-Galad was behind her in an instant, steadying her with a hand to her back. Gimli, more astute than given credit for, witnessed the entire exchange with a shrewd eye.

"Gimli, it is so good to see you." Tára said, bending to embrace the dwarf.

"All I get is a 'good to see you?' You act as if we've only been on a pleasure trip." Gimli said gruffly, though the dwarf's eyes glinted with mischief. The dwarf's face, though, quickly turned serious. "Legolas told me you had gotten yourself roughed up lass." Gimli said, gesturing at Tára's face. The dwarf's blunt honesty rattled Tára, though she did not let it show.

"It's only a few scars." Tára gave a fading smile to the dwarf, trying to reassure herself as much as Gimli. Thankfully, the dwarf changed the subject, gesturing towards Legil-Galad.

"And who might this be?" Gimli looked up at the elf, his sharp eyes boring into Legil-Galad. To his credit, the elf did not flinch away from Gimli's sharp gaze but merely smiled benignly as Tára introduced him.

"This is Legil-Galad, Legolas' kinsman. He has helped me in my travels." Tára looked back at the elf with a smile, a gesture once again not lost on the dwarf. Gimli greeted Legil-Galad with a short nod.

"Aragorn isn't around; he's off with Gandalf I suppose." Gimli said, abruptly changing subject. "We reunited with Gandalf in Fangorn. Can you believe it, back from the dead..." with that, Gimli turned motioning Tára to follow. A look over her shoulder stopped Tára. Legil-Galad hung back, barely inside the doorway. Gimli, who did not seem to notice that he was not being followed, talked on.

"Is something troubling you?" Tára asked in elvish. Legil-Galad wanted to laugh at how many times he had asked Tára that same question and had gotten no answer.

"Nothing at all." Legil-Galad returned in elvish. The elf mustered up a smile for Tára, following her into the room.

Legolas stepped from behind the corner that he had been standing. He had heard the whole exchange between Tára and his kinsman. Understanding of the situation was an unwelcome intrusion to the elf's thoughts.

* * *

Tára sat on the stone steps of Meduseld. The day had been one of many mixed emotions. She was reunited with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, though now they stood on the brink of war.

Tára sighed. Every text of history that she had read was playing out before her eyes. The wonder that such things had happened was overshadowed by the growing unrest in her heart. Absently, Tára reached for Boromir's ring, twirling the oversized band around her fingers.

"How does one like you come by the Ring of the Stewards?" a voice spoke behind Tára.

Tára looked over her shoulder at the owner of the voice. The wizard Gandalf stood behind her. The old man moved beside Tára, leaning upon his staff.

"That is a family heirloom, not given away lightly. Last I knew, Boromir, Denethor's son, bore that ring." Gandalf smiled down at Tára though his eyes were sorrowful. Tára looked up at the wizard, his earlier words ringing in her ears.

_...the Ring of the Stewards..._

Tára looked up, noticing that Gandalf still smiled at her, waiting for an answer.

"Have my words fallen on deaf ears?" the wizard asked a trace of humor in his voice.

"No. I am sorry; it's just something you said earlier. It reminded me of something." Tára looked away for a moment, her homesickness returning full force.

"My question still stands though. How did you come by that ring?"

Tára looked back at the wizard, feeling an ember of agitation at the wizard's persistence, though she quelled it quickly.

"I gained a special place in Boromir's heart, through no merit of my own. This ring was his pledge, though I was loath to take it for his intentions were only owned by him." Tára said, turning again to look at the setting sun. Admitting that Boromir had loved her stung more than Tára had thought it would.

_And now, no one will ever love you again. _Tára thought, forgetting the wizard for a moment. Her distracted thoughts gave Gandalf a moment to study the young woman before him. He had heard the whispers of the Valar. He knew that she had been chosen. Gandalf could already see the signs of the Valar's blessing. Tára's eyes were an unearthly blue, but they were a familiar shade to the wizard. In the dusky light, a faint glow came from Tára's skin as well. Gandalf studied Tára's profile until the young woman stood.

"It has been an honor speaking with you, Olórin." Tára said, bowing slightly to the wizard then turning away.

"Great things will come of you, Light Bringer." The wizard looked over his shoulder at the departing young woman. Tára paused slightly, and then walked on.

* * *

Tára walked down into the Golden Hall, not really seeing where she was going. Though the wizard had not said anything offensive, Tára still bristled at Gandalf's words.

_Of course he knows who I am. _Tára thought. _If the accounts are correct, the Valar themselves sent him back to aid those fighting against Sauron. They probably told the old wizard everything. _Suddenly, a chilling thought assailed Tára.

"What if Gandalf isn't the only one that knows?" Tára whispered, voicing her thought aloud. A cold spike of fear formed in her stomach. Tára knew that her identity was no longer a tightly kept secret. Panic started to rise in Tára's chest that she fought hard to suppress. She was about to flee the hall when a voice called to her.

"Lady Tára?"

Tára turned in the torch-lit hallway, her heart pounding. The silhouette of a woman could be seen at the opposite end of the hall. The woman stepped into the light, revealing her face. The lady Éowyn beckoned to Tára, an expression of uncertainty on her features.

"Are you well, Lady Tára?" Éowyn asked, noticing the young woman's pale features. The Sheildmaiden did her best not to stare at Tára but her scarred face made it nearly impossible.

"Yes, my lady, I am well. I was only deep in thought and you startled me." Tára said, walking towards Théoden's niece.

"There is no need to stand on ceremony; that can be left to the men and the throne." Éowyn smiled at Tára though she quickly looked away, a move that Tára did not miss.

"Though my uncle but greeted you, he wishes you and your companion to be treated well. A friend of lord Aragorn is a friend of our hall."

"Thank you." Tára said quietly, noticing that Éowyn had a slightly embarrassed look on her face. Éowyn quickly walked past Tára, motioning for her to follow. They soon came to a door that Éowyn opened. A modest sized chamber greeted Tára. A bed piled high with furs dominated the space, leaving just enough room for a pitcher-stand and a small chest against the opposing wall.

"I am sorry that it is not one of our grander rooms but as you have seen we have been inundated with many important peoples." Éowyn said gesturing to the room's interior.

"It is more than I could ask for. Thank you, again." Tára started walking into the room when she saw the hesitation of Éowyn. Tára turned and smiled at the older woman. Éowyn's look became embarrassed.

"Curiosity has gotten the best of me, but I was wondering how you came to know the lord Aragorn?" Éowyn looked down at the floor for a moment then looked up again, her face showing the truth of her statement.

"Aragorn taught me all that he knows about sword play." Tára stated simply, not wanting to go into further detail. Éowyn seemed to take time to digest Tára's statement, scrutinizing the young woman, though not harshly. Seeming to catch herself, the shield maiden spoke.

"You will have to tell me that story some day for I am sure to find it interesting." Her demeanor changing, Éowyn continued, "If you wish to have anything, you need only ask. You may breakfast with us on the morrow. Goodnight." Éowyn left on these words, leaving Tára standing in the hall alone. Looking into the room, Tára felt the pull to climb into the giant bed and sleep away all that had happened in the past days. Just as soon as that thought entered her head, Tára remembered what she was originally doing before she met Éowyn. Turning away from the door, Tára set out to find Legil-Galad.

* * *

Legil-Galad stood on the steps of Meduseld, Legolas beside him.

"She is the Light Bringer then." Legolas said, watching the expressions on Legil-Galad's face. "What drove you to come with her?" Legolas asked, not unkindly.

"You have seen what has been done to her. She needed a protector and I was able to be that." Legil-Galad said. "And she still needs one." He added as an afterthought. "She is fighting the Valar's choice and it is taking its toll. She has become so closed off. It burdens my soul to see her so miserable."

Legolas studied Legil-Galad closely, hearing a strange note in his kinsman's voice.

"Does your concern for Tára stem from concern alone or does it stem from something deeper?" Legolas asked.

Legil-Galad stared at Legolas in astonishment. "I have only known her for a matter of weeks. You cannot be insinuating that…" Legil-Galad got no further with his argument when a familiar voice called to him.

"Legil-Galad?"

The elf in question turned toward the sound. Tára was walking towards the pair. Before the young woman came close enough to hear, Legolas leaned close to Legil-Galad.

"I fear you are straying towards a dangerous flame. Take care that you aren't consumed." Legolas then bade Legil-Galad goodnight, reminding the elf of their ride on the morrow. Legolas touched Tára's shoulder as he passed but said nothing, disappearing into the night.

"What have you told Legolas?" Tára asked, now standing at Legil-Galad's side.

"Everything." The elf answered; his tone and shortness of the answer causing Tára to look up. Legil-Galad quickly changed the subject.

"We have been asked by the Dunedain Ranger to ride with the refugees to the fortress of Helm's Deep. I accepted the offer for both of us for I know you are loath to part with your comrades."

"I'm glad you accepted because I was going to insist that we go along anyway." Tára's tone was light but a strange feeling welled in her heart. Legil-Galad seemed to be bothered by something but the tone of his voice left no room for any questions.

"I came to say goodnight." Tára said quickly. "I will see you in the morning." Tára touched Legil-Galad's arm gently then turned away.

Legil-Galad stood on the stone steps for quite some time after Tára left. Legolas' words still rang in his head and he worked desperately to understand them. Legolas seemed to think that Legil-Galad's care for Tára went deeper than what Legil-Galad had let on. Now, as Legil-Galad stood back and looked from Legolas' perspective, there was no way to deny what Legolas saw. Legil-Galad pleadingly studied the night sky, hoping against all hope that he would not be consumed by the flame he strayed to so closely.

* * *

Helm's Deep. One of the most renowned battles in history. Words form historic texts and writings floated through Tára's dreams.

_…__the Rohirrim were hard pressed to find warriors…_

_…__though the fortress was great, its lone weakness was almost the undoing of all…_

_…__the number of Théoden's warriors could not compare to the army of Isengard…_

The fact that the battle would be won seemed non-existent to Tára as visions of war flashed in her mind.

Great uruks cut down men like grass. The screams of dying men and uruks threatened to deafen Tára. Boromir stood in the midst of the surging mass of uruks, hewing down any beast that came near. Tára's view suddenly changed, giving Tára a vantage point high above the battle. Strangely, Boromir fought beside Legolas; Boromir with a sword, Legolas with his knives. Uruks swarmed around the two fighters, driving them apart and a giant berserker filled the gap between the two. The beast swung its giant sword towards Boromir but the man was nowhere to be seen. In his place stood Legil-Galad. The berserker swung again, finding his mark. Tára cried out as Legil-Galad slowly crumpled under the berserker's blow. The last thing Tára saw was Legil-Galad's lifeless face, then the vision disappeared into blackness.

* * *

"Legil-Galad!"

Legil-Galad immediately snapped out of his meditation. Legolas stood over him, a look akin to panic in his eyes.

"Tára, she needs you. Hurry! She is causing the whole of Edoras to quake!"

Legil-Galad dashed out of the room, unaware that Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf followed. Several guards stood before Tára's door with their weapons drawn.

"Let me through!" Legil-Galad said, pushing the men aside. Opening the door, Legil-Galad entered quickly, not caring of the consequences.

Tára knelt in the center of her bed, the covers thrown to the floor. Her skin was glowing the brightest Legil-Galad had seen. The elf approached Tára, laying a hand on her shoulder. Tára suddenly spun around; something like a great blast of air flung Legil-Galad away, pushing the elf against the far wall. Tára looked at Legil-Galad though her eyes seemed to look through him.

"Tára! It is I, Legil-Galad!" the pressure against the elf immediately ceased. Tára blinked, her irises becoming visible.

"Legil-Galad, you...you are not hurt?" Tára asked haltingly in elvish.

"I am fine." Legil-Galad returned in elvish. The elf rose from the floor quickly when he saw the tears streaming down Tára's cheeks. Coming towards him on shaky legs, Tára grabbed Legil-Galad in a fierce embrace. Sobbing, Tára pressed her face into Legil-Galad's chest. One by one, the spectators by the door left. Shortly, Legolas and Gandalf were the only two standing outside the door. Gandalf turned, laying a hand on Legolas' shoulder. Legolas turned as well, though reluctantly. Though he was half-way down the hall, Legolas heard Tára's voice as clear as day.

"It was so real. I thought I'd lost you."

Though it was whispered, Legolas heard his kinsman's reply.

"You will never lose me."

* * *

"Why did you not tell me that they have spoken to you?" Legil-Galad asked. Tára had told Legil-Galad about her dream of the seashore and the Valar speaking to her. The elf sat next to Tára on the edge of her bed. He gently wrapped a blanket around Tára's shoulders when she shivered. The young woman gave Legil-Galad a small smile in thanks.

"I did not want to tell you because I knew you would agree." Tára said quietly. "I was too proud." Tára looked down at her lap, twisting a corner of the blanket nervously.

"Though we have only known each other for a short time, have I ever steered you wrong?" Legil-Galad asked, tilting Tára's face towards him with a gentle hand. He smiled when Tára's eyes met his and the young woman knew that he was not angry. A quick expression of relief crossed Tára's face, which made Legil-Galad smile again.

"Legil-Galad?" Tára looked to the elf for a moment, her relieved expression gone. It was replaced with a look akin to fear.

"What troubles you?"Legil-Galad asked, seeing a strange look of panic in Tára's eyes.

"Gandalf knows who I am."

"Yes…" Legil-Galad answered hesitantly, failing to see the reason for Tára's fear.

"If Gandalf knows who I am, don't you think that the Enemy knows who I am? I mean I am not sure what the Valar want me to do just yet but it cannot be to the Enemy's liking. We are heading to Helm's Deep! One of the largest battles in history is about to take place and don't you think that I may be a big target?" Tára could feel herself losing control until she looked at Legil-Galad. The elf sat stock still, looking at Tára with a troubled expression.

"You know of a coming battle and yet you have told no one?" Legil-Galad looked into Tára's eyes and it was then that she knew her mistake.

"It has to be this way, Legil-Galad. If I were to interfere, history could be changed, and not for the better." Tára leaned forward, grasping Legil-Galad's hands. "It has to be this way. We will be victorious but battle is going to happen whether I interfere or not. Please, Legil-Galad, do not think badly of me." Tára looked at the elf pleadingly, surprised when he pulled his hands away.

"You knew the Gondorian was going to die, didn't you?" Legil-Galad asked, his face devoid of any emotion. "You knew the Gondorian was going to die and you did nothing."

Tára sat back from Legil-Galad quickly, her head reeling with the sudden censure in the elf's voice. Boromir's face, alive with a beaming smile, flashed in Tára's vision. She then remembered the look on the man's face when he confessed his love for her and her anger boiled over. She jumped up from the bed, her eyes flashing.

"I could do nothing! Have you not heard a word that I have said?" Tára asked, her voice rising in hurt and anger. "I could do nothing or else I would endanger the fate of all Middle Earth! You were not there, how can you know what I did and did not do? It was not my choice for him to die!" Tára was shouting now. She took hold of the chain around her neck and tore it off fiercely. "I wish he was still alive so that I could give this back to him. To apologize for how I failed him, how I let him down. He was the first man to ever say he loved me, and now..." Tára sat back on the bed heavily, holding her face in her hands. Legil-Galad put a hand to her shoulder that she brushed away angrily.

"Just go." Tára said, sending a scathing glance at the elf. "Do not offer to comfort me if you cannot understand the position in which I have been placed."

Legil-Galad sat back for a moment then rose quickly, leaving the room in silence. Tára waited until she heard the door to the elf's chamber close until she burst into tears. Tára buried her face into the pillows on her bed, trying to muffle her sobs. Legil-Galad seemed to be the only one to understand what she was going through and now Tára did not know what the elf thought of her. Remembering the look of disapproval in Legil-Galad's eyes was enough to make Tára's heart feel as if it had broken in two.

* * *

Legil-Galad watched Tára closely. The young woman had been silent for most of the ride to Helm's deep. They were nearly to the fortress now and Tára had barely said two words to Legil-Galad. The elf had held his peace when they left Edoras but now Legil-Galad was ready to confront Tára. Legil-Galad had thought long and hard about what Tára had told him and he realized that he could not condemn the young woman. He, for one, knew that if he had the power to change future events, he would be loath to exercise them. The elf still puzzled over the revelation that Tára knew that the Gondorian was going to die but in the end, decided that Tára had her reasons and he should trust her.

Legil-Galad rode closer to Tára, placing a tentative hand on her arm. Tára looked up at Legil-Galad, surprise in her eyes. The elf looked around quickly and thanked the stars they were away from most that knew them.

"Tára, I cannot bear this silence any more. It was wrong of me to criticize you when I do not know the entire matter. I did not mean to cause you hurt. I beg your forgiveness."

Tára sat silently for a moment, looking out at the horizon.

"I must apologize as well." Tára said quietly. " I should not have sent you away in anger and I should not have kept this space between us. I ask your forgiveness as well. I have already forgiven you." Tára looked at Legil-Galad and smiled tentatively.

"You are forgiven." Legil-Galad smiled dazzlingly at Tára, though her expression turned serious once again.

"Legil-Galad, please promise to trust me. I know things may seem hopeless at times but please trust me that I will tell what I know if it will help." Tára looked pleadingly into her elven friend's eyes. Legil-Galad answered without hesitation.

"I will always trust you, _mellonin,_ no matter what."

Tára started to smile again at the elf when a scream ripped through the air, startling Tára's horse. Legil-Galad reached over, placing his hand upon the horse's neck, quieting the animal. A flash of metal caught Legil-Galad's eye. Legolas ran down a hill in front of the caravan, his knives drawn.

"A scout!" The Elven prince yelled.

A cry went up among the refugees, one dreaded word being repeated the most. Wargs. Théoden called all of the riders to the head of the column and the scene erupted into pandemonium. All the while, distant yelps of pain could be heard as the giant beasts fell under the steady rain of Legolas' arrows. Legil-Galad looked over to Tára who had already unsheathed her sword.

"No." Legil-Galad held out a hand, stopping the young woman. Tára was about to protest when Legil-Galad spoke again. "I think the Lady Éowyn needs you more." Legil-Galad motioned towards Théoden's niece. She was mounting her horse, a troubled look on her face. She then started issuing commands to the remaining refugees.

"Go, please." Legil-Galad said, turning from Tára and riding up to the front of the line. Tára watched as Legil-Galad disappeared over the hill, the sun glinted off the elf's drawn sword. Turning her steed towards the Lady Éowyn, Tára rode to the lady's aid, hearing the clash of battle behind her.

* * *

A/N: I know a lot happened quickly in this chapter but I hope you all are still enjoying yourselves. Thank you all for your patience! :)


	13. Chapter 13

Tára stood beside Éowyn. They had made it to Helm's Deep with the refugees unharmed and now they waited for the return of the riders. Tára had fully immersed herself in helping stock the fortress and settling all the refugees, hoping the activity would take her mind off her growing anxiety. She had helped round up all of the extra provisions and she now stood in the midst of the baskets of food. Tára's mind started to wander towards the riders left behind when a sigh from the Sheildmaiden beside Tára drew her mind back to the present. The shield maiden looked at the baskets of rations disparagingly; the meager amount of provisions made Éowyn's heart sink.

"Take everything to the caves." Éowyn said a note of defeat in her voice.

"Yes m'lady." A wizened old man replied, motioning for some young boys to help carry the baskets.

"All will be well, Éowyn." Tára said quietly. Éowyn looked at Tára, a stubborn look on her face.

"It is not my desire to keep watch over women and children. My place is beside the men, fighting with them. Not cowering in the shadows."

"It is an honorable task that you have been given. You are protecting the future of Rohan."

Éowyn turned to face Tára, her eyes sparking. "You bear the marks of a warrior yourself and you would choose to stand watch than the frontlines of battle?

Tára stood silently for a moment, feeling her face heat slightly. The air seemed as if it would explode with Éowyn's frustration.

"Honor does not always come from the frontlines of battle. Those who perform the task they are given with all of their ability are as worthy if honor as the mightiest warrior."

"Then what of you, Tára?" Éowyn leveled an icy glare at Tára, stepping closer to her. "I have heard who you are. You are a warrior chosen by the gods themselves yet it is said you refuse to own them. How can there be honor in that?"

Tára stood dumbfounded; Éowyn's words hitting her like a slap in the face. The Sheildmaiden was right and Tára could not argue with her. Tára looked away, her face flushing in shame. If the lady Éowyn knew this much, Tára could only guess who else knew and what they thought of her. She knew what Éowyn thought of her and Tára could not bear to think the word.

_Coward._

That one word was written plainly in the shieldmaiden's eyes as she continued to stare at Tára. The younger woman could think of nothing to say when a cry went up from the gate, sparing Tára any further words.

"The King! The King has returned!"

Éowyn moved away from Tára quickly, making her way towards the gate. Tára followed, a strange feeling welled in her chest. Éowyn's questions still swirled in her head, making Tára feel numb. After a moment, Tára realized she was at the gate. Tára shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She was able to easily spot Legolas and Gimli. The dwarf noticed Tára and started to walk towards her when Éowyn intercepted him.

"Lord Aragorn," the Lady Éowyn asked Gimli, "where is he?" The dwarf looked away from Éowyn's questioning gaze. The first words out of the dwarf's mouth shocked Tára to a standstill.

"He fell..." Gimli barely choked out.

Aragorn fallen? Tára's mind reeled and her previous numb feeling returned. She could not remember reading of Aragorn's defeat. Fear jolted through Tára as a thoughts assailed her. Had she been too involved with events already? Had she somehow caused Aragorn's defeat? Tára could feel hopeless tears well in her eyes.

_What have I done?_

A hand touched Tára's shoulder, startling her. Legil-Galad stood beside her. The elf reached up and wiped a tear off Tára's face, intense sympathy in his eyes. Tára grasped the elf's arm but let go quickly when Legil-Galad flinched. Blood covered Tára's hand and she noticed that three parallel stripes crossed the elf's left forearm. Distraught, Tára gently took hold of Legil-Galad's arm again.

"You are hurt." Tára said quietly, hoping to disguise the quiver in her voice.

"I will be fine; the bleeding has nearly stopped." Legil-Galad lifted Tára's hand away, giving it a light squeeze before he let go. "King Théoden has asked that you assist his niece organizing the refugees."

"I have been long at it before you arrived." Tára answered woodenly, still keenly aware of her confrontation with Éowyn. Legil-Galad stooped to look into Tára's eyes, though the young woman did not meet his gaze.

"That means as well that you will be guarding the entrance of the caves when battle comes." Legil-Galad said, straightening up.

"Where will you be?" Tára asked, keeping her eyes averted.

"I will be fighting alongside my kinsman." Legil-Galad said. The elf took one of Tára's hands, finally drawing her eyes up. "I am sorry about the Dunedain Ranger. I know he was your teacher and friend."

"What if it was my fault?" Tára nearly whispered. "What if something I did caused that attack?" Legil-Galad's eyes widened as what Tára said sunk in. He was about to answer Tára when they heard their names being called.

"Tára, Legil-Galad." They turned to see Legolas and Gimli coming towards them.

"Théoden has requested to see all the male warriors in the keep." Legolas said his voice strangely husky. "The Lady Éowyn will need you soon, Tára." Tára nodded, noticing the glimmer of a jewel in Legolas' hand.

"You three go," Tára said. "I will try to see you as soon as I can." Once again, Tára could feel her voice quiver but the men around her paid no notice. Legolas and Gimli nodded and turned away without a word, their shoulders hunched in defeat. Legil-Galad followed the pair, giving Tára's shoulder a gentle squeeze as he departed.

* * *

Several hours of frantic preparation passed for Tára and Éowyn. The two women ordered the refugees with urgent precision. If the two were not giving orders, they were also scurrying around the fortress, rounding up people and supplies. They now stood in front of the keep, directing people carrying supplies. The two women stopped, listening to the excited rumble coming from the direction of the gate. Gimli's gruff voice carried over the distance, causing the rumble to intensify slightly. Éowyn cast an excited look at Tára, as the commotion grew closer. Aragorn, dirty and tired emerged at the steps to the keep. Tára could not help the relief that flooded her soul at the sight of the ranger. She still was unsure why she had not known about the attack, but her mood lightened minutely to know that the Ranger was alive. Tára let out a sigh; at Tára's side, Éowyn shifted as if she would go to Aragorn but she grew still. Legolas stood before Aragorn on the steps. The elf's quiet words were lost to Tára though the meaning was all too clear. The Elven prince placed a glittering pendant into Aragorn's hand. The epitome of gratefulness could be seen in the ranger's eyes. With a nod from Legolas, Aragorn continued up the stairs, pushing open the doors to the keep.

* * *

Tára stood at the entrance of the glittering caves, urging the queue of refugees to hurry. The setting sun had ushered in the distant thundering of thousands of feet.

The lady Éowyn walked up to Tára, followed by several soldiers. The look on the shield maiden's face caused Tára's stomach to plummet.

"The king has ordered that all the male children older than ten winters should report to the armory. The old men are to come as well." Éowyn signaled the guards to begin their work, all the while keeping her eyes downcast. Tára could not blame the woman, as the cries of mothers began to float through the caves.

"We must help, lady Tára, for haste is needed." Éowyn said, turning quickly from Tára's gaze. Tára followed Éowyn, though she felt as if she were watching herself from afar. Tára could barely look mothers in the eye as she ushered their young sons from them. When Tára came to the final boy, the lad hugged his crying mother and sister stoically.

"Do not worry mother, all will be well." The lad said. He then turned and looked Tára in the face. "Show me the way, lady Elf-blade." The boy waited until Tára pointed to the soldier behind her then walked away without a backwards glance.

All around her, Tára heard the sobs and wails of the bereaved mothers. She felt her chest start to tighten painfully and panic start to rise. She rushed for the open air, willing her tears not to fall.

* * *

Darkness had covered the fortress for barely an hour, though to Tára, it felt like the night was almost through. Every last refugee now huddled together in the great caverns of Aglarond. The final task for Tára was to close and bar the gates to the caves.

Tára laid her hands on the great handle of the gate, looking across the fortress. A shape detached itself from the shadowed archway in front of Tára, startling her. She realized it was Legil-Galad as the elf stepped into the torchlight. She had not seen the elf for almost the entire day and she could not help the smile that came to her face. Tára's smile faded though when she looked the elf up and down. Legil-Galad was dressed in unfamiliar armor. A mail shirt glimmered under a leather vest. Leather pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves were strapped to the elf's shoulders, forearms, and legs. The armor looked old and war-torn already, giving Legil-Galad a fierce look.

"I was hoping I would find you here." Legil-Galad said in elvish, snapping Tára out of her observations.

"I as well." Tára replied, a feeling of sadness falling over her. Her dream of Legil-Galad's fall came to mind, causing the panic to well in Tára's chest. "Legil-Galad, this could be the last time we see each other, I can't bear..."

Legil-Galad walked over to Tára, cutting her off with a stern look. The elf took hold of Tára's hands, smiling gently.

"I promised you that if I could help it, I would not be parted from you. You can hold me to that promise even now."

"I fear that my dream was a premonition, not just a creation of my nightmares."

"Tára, I will not leave you." Legil-Galad said earnestly. Tára looked up, ashamed to feel tears gathering in her eyes.

"Do you think me a coward, Legil-Galad?" Tára asked. She looked up into the elf's forest green eyes, surprised to see the expression of anger on his face.

"Who has said such a thing?" Legil-Galad's gaze turned dark when Tára would not answer him. Grasping Tára's shoulders, Legil-Galad gave her a little shake.

"You listen to me, Tára. You are the farthest person from a coward that I have ever known. We all have our faults, though cowardice is not one of yours." A call came from the ranks, interrupting Legil-Galad. The elf looked over his shoulder reluctantly, hearing the call for all the warriors to assemble at the wall.

"I must go now but know this." Legil-Galad lifted Tára's chin gently, looking into her eyes. "You are one of the bravest and valiant beings I know. It pains my heart to know that battle is coming and I am to be parted from you." Legil-Galad's gaze became intense as he looked into Tára's eyes. "Tára, no uruk or any other evil creature will stand before me, for I guard one of the most priceless treasures in Middle Earth." Legil-Galad looked into Tára's eyes for a moment longer then leaned forward, placing a kiss upon her forehead.

"When the battle is over, I will meet you here." Legil-Galad whispered. Tára nodded, looking into Legil-Galad's eyes again. The elf reached up, stroking Tára's scarred cheek. Legil-Galad leaned towards Tára, his eyes intense. Tára's pulse quickened as she felt the elf's warm breath upon her face. Tára reached up and placed a hand on Legil-Galad's cheek. The elf's gaze turned suddenly dark and he pulled away. Tára dropped her hand quickly, feeling her face heat. When she looked up, Legil-Galad was gone, causing unwanted tears to spring to Tára's eyes. She wiped them away angrily, her heart feeling as if it was being torn to pieces. With more force than necessary, Tára pulled the gates shut, barely managing to place the heavy bar across them.

"My lady?" a voice called tentatively behind Tára. Tára turned to see a refugee woman coming towards her. The woman had a knowing look in her eye but said nothing about the tears Tára was hastily wiping away. "The lady Éowyn has asked that you guard this gate. She said that she would join you shortly." The woman turned away at Tára's nod, disappearing down the torch-lit tunnel.

Sitting down in front of the gate, Tára unsheathed her sword, placing it across her lap. Looking at the sliver of her reflection, Tára watched as a lone tear traced the outline of her most prominent scar. Tára brushed the moisture off her cheek, letting her hand linger on the place Legil-Galad touched. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers; still feel his soft breath against her face. For a moment, Tára let her mind linger on the memory of that sensation. Her pleasant thoughts shattered to pieces when Legil-Galad's darkened eyes flashed in Tára's memory. The feeling of rejection cut through Tára like a knife, draining all warmth out of her. Tára buried her face in her hands, trying to stop the reoccurring flow of tears. A single sob slipped through Tára's lips as thunder began to rumble outside the barred doors.

* * *

Legil-Galad spun around, slicing the rope to a siege ladder. The giant arrow that connected to the rope lodged itself into a knot of uruks, bringing a grim smile to Legil-Galad's lips. Several uruks that escaped the giant projectile charged the elf, bellowing their protests. The uruk's rush was their downfall, for Legil-Galad slew them with ease. A short distance away, Legolas fought his own group of uruks. The elven prince's white knives flashed like deadly ice. Gimli, who was fighting alongside Legolas at the beginning, was nowhere to be seen. Legil-Galad ran towards his kinsman, cutting down uruks in his path. Legolas whirled around to slice at the uruk behind him but the beast already had the point of a blade protruding from its chest. Behind the uruk stood Legil-Galad. Legolas nodded his thanks as the other elf pulled his blade free. A large grappling hook sailed over the two elves, drawing their attention upwards. Several uruks charged the elves, slashing at them with their brutal blades. A loud bellow sounded towards the edge of the wall, causing Legolas and Legil-Galad to look up. A giant berserker stood atop a siege ladder. The structure seemed to move at a maddeningly fast pace towards the wall. Legil-Galad tried to forge through the attacking uruks to slice the rope that held the ladder but the beasts blocked his way. With a metallic crash, the ladder reached the wall. The berserker leapt between Legolas and Legil-Galad, swinging its double-edged sword in a wide circle around itself. Legolas stepped back nimbly, his path clear; Legil-Galad dodged the berserker's sword but felt an unwelcome presence behind him. The elf turned quickly, blocking a heavy blow from an uruk. Though his feet were planted, Legil-Galad was driven back by the impact, his feet sliding on the mixture of rain and blood coating the walls.

Legolas spun around, looking for Legil-Galad. He spotted the other elf fighting against a knot of uruks on his own. As Legil-Galad slew the final uruk at his front, a berserker leapt over the wall at his back. Legolas ran towards his kinsman, shouting a warning. Even as his knives pierced through the giant uruk's back, Legolas knew that his warning came too late. The death bellow of the berserker and the cry of pain from Legil-Galad mixed eerily.

Legil-Galad fell to his knees, stunned by the blow. Blood ran down the elf's left arm, dotting the stones below. A soldier of Rohan helped Legil-Galad up, pulling him a little ways away from the edge of the wall. Legil-Galad winced as the man tied a rag around the wound in his arm. Legil-Galad nodded his thanks to the man as he dove back into the fray, fighting one handed. Over the cacophony of battle, Legil-Galad's elven hearing picked up a string of frantic elvish. Looking down the wall, Legil-Galad spotted Legolas shooting his arrows at a frantic pace. Legil-Galad watched as a torch bearing berserker ran towards the opening to the culvert at the base of the wall. Aragorn continued to yell frantically at Legolas as the creature ran closer. With one final burst of speed, the berserker threw itself into the culvert.

"Run!"

Legil-Galad barely got the single word out of his mouth before a deafening explosion blew out a section of the Deeping wall. Legil-Galad and several others were blown backwards from the blast. The elf curled into a ball, protecting his head, as ruble rained down on the two armies. Attacks from both sides stalled in a moment of deafening silence. Legil-Galad finally looked up, his ears ringing. The uruks seemed to recover more quickly from the blast, running towards the ruined wall. Horror filled Legil-Galad as he watched hundreds of uruks swarm through the breach in the wall.

* * *

_Tára stood on the shores of a familiar beach, the warm wind swirling around her. Suddenly, the earth moved, rushing past Tára. Under her feet, the waters of the ocean grew deeper and deeper. In front of her, Tára saw the beginnings of a mountain range. Soon she was moving upwards, though Tára still felt as if she stood on solid ground. Breaking through a ring of clouds, Tára saw a hollow in the mountain. In the hollow were two thrones. Upon the foremost throne, a person sat, though the other throne was empty. Tára studied the regal being, trying to discern its likeness. The face and body of the being was beautiful, almost elven in feature and form. The eyes of the being were the clearest blue, though they had a sharpness to them, like the eyes of an eagle. Dark locks of hair flowed down to rest on the being's shoulders, contrasting starkly with its ivory skin. Tára gathered that the being was male by the set of its shoulders and jaw. He now looked at Tára, his penetrating gaze unnerving her._

_"__You wonder where you are, do you not?" the being said, his voice regal, though comforting and sounding vaguely familiar. Tára only nodded, feeling like a little child. The being smiled at Tára, washing her anxiety away. _

_"__You have been chosen, Tára. Out of the children of the First born of Ilúvatar, none was found. Of the children of Durin, none was found. On the day that Melian had advised Ilúvatar to name you the one, I could scarce believe Melian's choice, for you were of the children of men. The weakest race of Ea. You are growing quickly, though you have not shown yourself ready for your task that is to be given to you, yet." The being smiled at Tára again._

_For a moment, Tára felt her anger rise. "What is my task? Why am I even here? I don't belong in this time!" Tára looked at the being pleadingly. "Why did you let this happen to me?" Tára gestured to her face, feeling her voice crack._

_"__We have told you to trust us and you must do that. It was not our wish for you to be harmed so but Ilúvatar's will is oftentimes not what we expect." For a moment, the being looked away and Tára thought she heard him sigh. Tára shifted on her feet nervously and the being looked back at her. "I can see your frustration, young one and know that you must have faith. You will learn of your task when you are ready." _

_"__What am I supposed to do?" Tára asked, her frustration coloring her voice. Another thought suddenly sprang to Tára's mind and she voiced it before the being answered again. "The enemy knows who I am, don't they?" Tára felt her frustration dissolve when the beings face took on a somber cast. _

_"__Morgoth's servant knows of your existence. You must be on your guard in these dark times." The being locked eyes with Tára, sending a chill down her spine. "Continue with the First born whose heart you hold, for he will be truer to you than any companion of men. Trust his wisdom." _

_"__First born?" Tára asked when all around her went dark._

* * *

A great thundering sounded around Tára, startling her. Tára opened her eyes to find the lady Éowyn standing before her. The lady wore a worried frown on her face, a sword in her hand. Tára could hear the muffled cries of panic from the refugees in the caverns beyond.

"What has happened?" Éowyn asked, looking at Tára curiously. The woman's gaze was still slightly veiled but she looked at Tára expectantly.

"I'm not certain." Tára merely said, rising to her feet. She stood shakily; feeling slightly detached from her body, the vision of the being's eyes still burning in her mind.

"Do you think they have breached the Deeping wall?" Éowyn asked, breaking Tára out of her musings.

"Time can only tell." Tára answered, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Tára and Éowyn stood in silence for and indeterminable amount of time. Tára started to pace the width of the tunnel, swinging her sword in small circles at her side. Éowyn only stood stock still, listening to the sounds of the battle above them.

"What is that sound?" Éowyn asked suddenly, stepping towards the gate.

Tára stopped pacing; listening to what had alerted the Sheildmaiden. Tára walked close to the gate, laying her ear against the weathered boards. The rush of heavy feet greeted Tára and she sprang back from the gate. She moved just in time as something slammed on the opposite side of the gate. A guttural roar sounded close on the opposite side chilling Tára to her core. A second crash rattled the ancient wood again, causing a cloud of dust to sift through the cracks of the gate.

"They are trying to break through!" Éowyn cried, a fierce look coming into her eyes.

A third crash cut off whatever reply Tára had for Éowyn. She stood next to the Sheildmaiden in silence, counting the number of times the gate shuddered and shook under the uruks battering ram. The uruks continued to slam the aged wood, though the gates did not seem to budge.

"Perhaps the gates will hold." Tára had no more gotten the words out of her mouth before a great crack split one of the gates from top to bottom. Brutal swords hacked away at the aged wood, creating an opening the size of a man's head.

"Look out!" Tára called, pushing Éowyn behind a giant stalagmite. Bolts from the uruk crossbows whizzed through the opening, halting any offense Tára and Éowyn would hope to attempt. Another blow from the battering ram sent wood splinters flying into the caves. Cautiously, Tára looked around the edge of the stalagmite. The uruks charged the door one last time, creating a space large enough for two of the beasts to fit through. The creatures stormed through the gates, brash in their blood lust. Tára stepped out from her hiding place; the foremost uruks halted in surprise. One beast without a helmet fixed his yellow eyes on Tára, smiling cruelly. Cold fear shot through Tára and her vision shuddered. For a moment, the white-haired uruk in Mirkwood stood before her, his body poised to attack. Tára felt her limbs begin to shake, and try as she might, panic rose in her chest. The beast saw Tára's fear and rushed forward, his eyes intent on his victim. Tára brought her sword up, preparing for a shattering blow.

_We are with you, Tára. _

In an instant, Tára's fear was gone. Sounds around her became muffled and her sight became sharper. The uruk charging her suddenly seemed ponderous and slow. Tára slew the beast in an instant, its yellow eyes widening in shock before it fell to the ground. Tára stepped in front of Éowyn, cutting down an uruk that was rushing the Sheildmaiden. Uruk after uruk jumped through the ruined gate, only to be cut down by Tára. She knew the lady Éowyn still stood to her back but Tára would not allow anything to pass.

"Tára!" Éowyn's cry faintly touched Tára's ears. The Sheildmaiden pointed at the gate with her sword, taking a step to move around Tára. Two uruk bowmen trained their weapons on Éowyn, letting the bolts fly.

"No!" Tára yelled pushing Éowyn behind her again. Tára felt two points of pressure on her side, and then two crossbow bolts skittered to rest against her feet. Tára looked back at Éowyn; the woman stood with her sword half raised, an expression of shock on her face. Tára turned away from the woman, seeing that a third bowman had risen from behind the original two. The beast fired his bolt at Tára, only to have the bolt fly high and shoot into the cavern behind. As the three uruks began to reload their bows, Tára saw her chance and rushed the gate. The bowmen fell with silent screams, their ugly faces frozen in a mask of rage. The uruks surging beyond the gate roared in anger, pushing against the remains of the shattered gates. The ancient wood gave way and the uruks rushed into the tunnel.

"Get out!" Tára yelled, slicing at the uruks frantically. A strange bluish light shone around Tára, though she gave it no heed. Uruk after uruk fell beneath Tára's blade, though for every beast that she slew, another took its place. After what seemed like an eternity of fighting, the final beast fell before Tára. She stood in the tunnel, panting and spattered with gore. The sudden silence made Tára's ears ring. Shaking her head, Tára looked around her. Two piles of uruk bodies rose on her right and left; a strange halo of crossbow bolts littered the ground at her feet. Looking to the ruined gates, Tára saw the welcome light of the rising sun. A victorious cry rang from the fortress beyond and Tára felt tears of relief well in her eyes.

"Tára?"

Whirling around, Tára found Éowyn standing behind her, an almost reverent look on her face.

"I have heard the horn call, the battle is over." Éowyn said quietly, stepping around Tára carefully. Tára watched as Éowyn crept towards the ruined gates, turning every so often to look at Tára. Puzzled, Tára looked around herself again. The walls of the tunnel were spattered with gore; looking down, Tára realized that she was covered in the uruk's black blood. Tára sheathed her sword, exhaustion suddenly washing over her. Looking at her hands, Tára noticed that they were glowing a pale blue. She sat down heavily on the stone floor, feeling a stinging sensation on her right thigh. She looked down, seeing a shallow slice along the top of her leg. Tára could not remember feeling any pain during the fight. She sighed, realizing that she did not care.

"So you truly are the warrior of the gods." Éowyn was studying Tára closely, her gaze guarded.

"I am nothing to fear." Tára said tiredly though Éowyn seemed not to hear.

"What language were you speaking?"

"What?" Tára looked up, perplexed at Éowyn's questioning.

"When you were attacking the uruks, you were yelling the same phrase over and over again. I could not understand it."

Tára looked to the shield maiden, though the woman averted her eyes. Unsheathing her sword, Tára tilted the blade to see her reflection. Through the gore, Tára's eyes seemed to be burning out of her head. Blinking, Tára sheathed her sword, not answering Éowyn's questions.

"We should clear a path, for the wounded will be brought before long." Tára reached down, grasping the limbs of a fallen uruk and pulling the heavy carcass aside. Éowyn did not move for a moment, and then fell to working beside Tára. Suddenly, an anguished cry went up from the outside of the ruined gates.

"They breached the opening to the caves!" Strong shoulders pushed the remnants of the gates aside, allowing the men to rush through. The group stopped at the sight of the uruk corpses, gasping at the number of dead beasts.

"Your families are safe, we lost no one." Éowyn straightened up from one of the gory piles. The warriors greeted their Lady with relieved sighs and weary smiles. Some men even, had tears running freely down their faces. One of the royal guards stepped forward, taking Éowyn's elbow.

"My lady, are you hurt?"

"No. I am unharmed. You can thank the lady Tára for that." Éowyn gestured towards Tára, though her tone of voice sounded far from grateful. The royal guard seemed not to notice, for his gaze was fixed on the young woman standing behind Éowyn. The young woman's garments were caked in gore; her face and hands were splattered with black blood. Her eyes were fixed on the floor but she looked up when she heard her name. He had seen the young woman and her scarred face before in Edoras but the royal guard could not stop the gasp that escaped him when she looked up. Her eyes were nearly all white with only a light blue ring around her iris.

"You have our thanks." The guard said quietly, unconsciously taking a step away from the gore-splattered woman.

"It is nothing." the young woman said quietly. She looked around at the gathering crowd, a look of panic coming to her distinctive face. Without another word, the young woman ran through the soldiers at the gate into the morning air.

* * *

Standing in the shadows outside of the ruined gateway, Tára closed her eyes, still seeing the gore splattered tunnel. More soldiers started to swarm around the gate, each man stopping to marvel at the carnage within. Tára could hear some men questioning where she was, sending an odd spike of fear into her stomach. She turned to try to flee from the gate when she heard her name.

"Tára?"

Tára stopped and turned around quickly, her eyes seeing a welcome sight. Legil-Galad stood before her, his face smudged with dirt and blood. Alarm shot through Tára when she noticed that Legil-Galad's left hand was covered in blood. The sleeve of his tunic was also soaked in blood despite a dirty bandage tied above his elbow. Tára looked up into Legil-Galad's face, their last interaction still strong in her mind. A joyful smile appeared on the elf's face without a hint of the dark shadow apparent before the battle. With his good arm, Legil-Galad pulled Tára to him in a fierce embrace.

"I was afraid I was going to lose you." Tára said, stepping back from Legil-Galad.

"You should not trust every vision and dream that comes along." Legil-Galad said, smiling. His words caused Tára to hesitate, remembering her conversation with the being earlier in the night. Looking into Legil-Galad's eyes, Tára could see that they were a shade darker than normal. Underneath the grime of the night, the elf's skin was pale as well, despite his dazzling smile.

"Come with me; you are hurt and need mending." Tára held Legil-Galad's arm, noticing that the wound had begun to bleed again. The blood was trickling slowly down Legil-Galad's arm, forming small drops on his fingertips.

"There are others that are worse off than I; see to them first." Legil-Galad said his smile fading. Tára watched the elf for a moment, noticing that his shoulders slumped and that his skin paled another shade.

"No, we need your help, so you need to be mended." Tára said, putting an arm around the elf's waist, guiding Legil-Galad towards the glittering caves. Though he had protested, the elf came along willingly.

The refugees had already set out supplies for the wounded, so Tára took a bowl of water and several strips of linen. Finding a secluded corner, Tára set to work loosening Legil-Galad's armor. Soon, all that was left on the elf's upper body was his tunic. With deft movements, Tára popped the seams to the sleeve on Legil-Galad's injured arm.

"This might hurt." Tára said, starting to pull the sleeve off. Legil-Galad only looked away, a tense expression on his face. Tára could not hold back the gasp that escaped her lips when the sleeve came off. Just above the elbow, Legil-Galad's arm was flayed open.

"How could you fight? You should have lost all your blood." Tára asked, starting to clean the skin around the wound. She realized she was holding her breath when Legil-Galad flinched and she jumped. Legil-Galad merely looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I have been trained as a warrior for millennia. You learn early on that blood is not the only source of strength." Legil-Galad spoke quietly, leaning his head back against the cool stone of the caves.

"I am sorry." Tára said quietly when Legil-Galad flinched again. Tára now poured water into the wound, trying to flush the dirt from the elf's flesh. Bleeding started anew, though the blood was bright and clean. Tára placed a pad of the linen cloths over the wound, debating what she should do next. She was no healer and she figured that she had done about as much as she should.

"A healer needs to stitch this back together or it will never heal correctly." Tára said, looking Legil-Galad in the eye. Motioning for the elf to hold pressure on the wound, Tára washed the elf's face off with one of the remaining rags. Tára looked around the cavern, trying to find a healer that could spare a moment. Finally, Tára sat back on her heels, watching the elf. Cracking his eyes open, Legil-Galad gave Tára a chagrined smile.

"What are you waiting for? Go find a healer." The elf smiled weakly again, closing his eyes. Tára stood reluctantly, looking around the caverns. She spotted a woman, who was dressed in the garb of a healer. Tára walked up to the woman, waiting until she was finished with her current patient.

"My, lady?" Tára said when the woman stood up. The healer cast a questioning glance at Tára. "My companion has a wound that needs to be sewn; I was hoping that you would be able to do that." Tára watched the woman expectantly, glancing over her shoulder every so often to watch Legil-Galad.

"I will try to aid your friend, though I can make no promises if his wound is mortal." The healer said with a weary voice. She motioned for Tára to lead her to Legil-Galad. The healer seemed to pale when she realized that Legil-Galad was an elf, though she began to examine the wound.

"Compared to many others that I have already seen, this repair will be nothing." The healer stood and reached into the pouch at her belt, pulling out a curved needle and a spool of silken thread.

"You may want to hold him." The healer said to Tára, gesturing towards Legil-Galad with her head. "Our supplies of medicines to dull the pain are sorely limited."

Nodding, Tára sat on the opposite side of the elf, wrapping her arm around his waist. Legil-Galad lifted his uninjured arm and placed it around Tára's shoulders. Without a word of warning, the healer began her work. Tára reached up and held the elf's free hand, feeling him tense as the silken thread passed through his wounded flesh. Tára could feel her fingers tingling as Legil-Galad's grip tightened. To Tára, it seemed like an eternity until the healer was finished, though it was only a few minutes. With a small pair of scissors, the healer trimmed her final knot, finishing her work with amazing speed.

"You should be healed in no time. You should not have to worry about the thread, for it is special. It will disappear in your body when your muscle heals." Standing quickly, the healer left before Tára could offer a word of thanks. Looking at Legil-Galad, Tára could see that the renewed pain had shaken him from his previous daze. Standing up, Tára gathered some clean bandages, wrapping them around Legil-Galad's arm. Satisfied with her work, Tára sat back, watching the elf. Legil-Galad smiled at her a tad mischievously.

"I thank you for your help, Tára."

"You are slightly delirious, _mellonin_. I hardly did a thing." Tára said, turning to reach for the water skin behind her, thankful that the action hid her blushing face. "Drink this, and then talk to me." Tára scooted forward until her knees were almost touching Legil-Galad's knees. She held out the water skin, leveling her sternest gaze at the elf. Legil-Galad took the skin with his right hand, draining the water from the pouch. Leaning forward, Legil-Galad's face was only inches from Tára's.

"I was afraid that I would lose you, Tára." Legil-Galad began, surprising Tára. "Throughout the battle, you were constantly on my mind. The only thing I could do was ask the Valar's protection for you." Legil-Galad leaned closer, nearly resting his forehead against Tára's. "I realized something during the battle."

"I had another vision." Tára said abruptly, stopping Legil-Galad from finishing his thought. "It was before the uruks broke through the Deeping wall."

Legil-Galad sat up straight, his look becoming serious. "What did you see?"

"I was standing on a beach and then suddenly I was moving through the air until I came to a giant mountain range. In the mountain there was a throne room and a – being – was there." Tára continued to explain all that she had seen, telling Legil-Galad what the being had said.

"He said that I had been chosen. He even said that Melian suggested my name to Ilúvatar himself."

"Did he tell you what you had been chosen for?" Legil-Galad asked.

"No he did not. He said that I hadn't proven myself yet." Tára looked down, studying her hands, reluctant to tell Legil-Galad the last part of her conversation with the being.

"What are you to do then?" Legil-Galad fixed a steady gaze on Tára, noticing her reluctance.

"He said that I must continue on with one of the First born and heed their wisdom." Tára's conscience pricked her as she spoke, the half- truth she told ringing in her ears.

"Let us hope that you will not have to look far for one of the First born, for we are few and far between." Legil-Galad said, smiling at Tára. The elf moved, standing slowly. Tára rose quickly, steadying Legil-Galad as he swayed, finding his balance.

"Thank you." Legil-Galad said quietly. "I have taken up enough time from those that need it more. Let's find the others and see what help we can be."

Stepping out into the sun, Tára blinked at its brightness. She had not realized how long it had taken to patch up Legil-Galad. The cool air was thick with the scent of blood. Around Tára, the bodies of men and uruks lay in tangled heaps. Tára felt numbness settle over her as she helped Legil-Galad through the carnage. She never realized that the aftermath of a battle could be worse than the battle itself. In her time, Tára could not even remember any recordings of a war for the past two hundred years. As Tára's gaze fell on the continuing queue of wounded and dying, she realized that no scholar could ever accurately portray the monstrosity of war.

"We should head over there." Legil-Galad said, pointing in the direction of the gates. Tára looked towards the ravaged Deeping wall, noticing that any survivors were heading outside the fortress. Tára could see a line of warriors already at work, digging a mass grave. With a deep breath, Tára followed Legil-Galad towards the gravesite. A few moments later, Tára stood on the causeway, scanning the ranks of warriors. With a touch to her elbow, Legil-Galad continued on his way. Tára followed, noticing that the elf had spotted Legolas and Gimli. The pair was working alongside the men of Rohan, each hacking away at the rocky soil. Tára noticed that a pile of the slain was beginning to form behind the workers.

"Hail." Legil-Galad called, stopping Legolas in his work. The elven prince looked up, his face streaked with mud and grime, his empty quiver still upon his back. Gimli stopped as well, a relieved smile upon his face.

"I hear that you almost single-handedly defended the entrance to the caves." The elven prince looked at Tára with a curious gaze, noticing her pale slightly.

"It was only a few uruks, Legolas. Nothing compared to this." Tára said gesturing to the already smoking piles of uruk bodies. Legolas angled a look at his kinsman. Legil-Galad only raised an eyebrow in response.

"There were nearly one hundred uruk bodies in that tunnel. The lady Éowyn said that you did not allow her to slay a single one."

Tára looked quickly at Legolas, her eyes wide. "I did not know there were so many. I only fought until none came." Tára looked around at the trio before her, feeling uncomfortable in their appraising gaze.

"Enough talk of battle," Gimli said, tossing aside his spade. "Aragorn said that we should head to the keep at midmorning. I suppose there will be food set out." Waving for the others to follow, Gimli took hold of Tára's arm, leading her towards the keep. As they walked, Tára brushed up against Gimli, sending a stinging pain through her leg. Reaching down, Tára felt the warm stickiness of blood.

"Lady Tára, you did not tell us that you were hurt!" Gimli stopped abruptly, noticing the blood upon Tára's hand. The dwarf waved for the two elves to come closer. All the while Tára protested.

"It is not so bad. I will be fine."

"Not that bad? Why that gash is a wide as my thumb." Gimli stepped behind Tára, propelling her towards the keep at a faster pace. "I doubt they will mind if we patch you up there." Tára looked to Legil-Galad and Legolas for help. The elves only smiled benignly at Tára.

* * *

Tára looked down at her empty food bowl. Eating seemed to remind her body of its exhaustion. Her clothes were stiff with the dried grime of battle and Tára found herself wishing for a warm bath and bed. To Tára's relief, Aragorn, Théoden, and the other officials had started assessing the damages of the battle. For the moment, Gimli was stopped from taking care of the wound on Tára's leg. With the meeting over now, though Legolas, Gimli, and Legil-Galad all watched Tára. The keep hummed with solemn activity but Tára seemed not to notice. Motioning to someone, Legolas had some clean rags and a bowl of water brought to them. The next thing Tára knew, Legil-Galad's good arm was around her shoulders holding her up. Heat rushed to Tára's face when she realized that she had dozed off.

"Let's see to that wound now." Legil-Galad said standing and guiding Tára over to a secluded corner. Legolas carried the bandaging supplies over to the pair and Legil-Galad took the things from his kinsman. "I think I will be able to take care of her. You can go if you are needed elsewhere." Legolas angled a meaningful glance towards Gimli and turned around, guiding the dwarf away from the pair. Tára watched the two disappear then turned to Legil-Galad. The elf looked up at Tára questioningly, his hands already pulling off Tára's right boot. At her nod, the elf rolled Tára's legging up past her knee. With a gentle hand, Legil-Galad began cleaning the wound. Thankfully, Legil-Galad noted, the wound did not go into Tára's muscle, though it went through almost all the layers of Tára's skin.

"I am really alright." Tára said to Legil-Galad quietly. "When I saw how badly you were hurt, I forgot about myself."

Legil-Galad looked up and smiled. "Your concern is much appreciated. I would think that your family sorely misses you, for the care you hold for your friends borders on sacrificial. Not many, man or elf, can claim to care for others more than self."

"I am far from selfless." Tára said, watching Legil-Galad wrap a clean bandage around her leg. The elf looked up, smiling a reply.

"You know, I have never asked you about your family." Legil-Galad said, sitting back on his heels. "You have met all of my family that remains on these shores but I know nothing about yours." The elf looked at Tára expectantly, noticing that her eyes had started to glaze over. For a moment, Tára hesitated, then with a sigh she began to speak.

"My father's name is Mardil. I guess you would call him a scholar. My brother, Xander, is his apprentice. He is very much like Legolas in temperament. He observes everything, noticing the smallest things when others do not. He is two years older than me." Tára looked away and for a moment, she looked as if she would cry.

"What of your mother?" Legil-Galad asked quickly, starting to see the signs of shock on Tára's face. The elf inwardly cringed when he heard Tára's answer.

"She died when giving birth to me. My father says I am very much like her."

"I can see then what attracted your father to your mother." Legil-Galad said matter of fact. Tára looked up to Legil-Galad, her eyes sharpening. Tára felt her exhaustion fade quickly when Legil-Galad reached up, tracing Tára's cheek with a finger.

"When the wall was breached, I thought all was lost. To be sitting here, still alive, is a miracle of the Valar. I..."

"Legil-Galad, please, you don't know what you are getting into!" Tára brushed the elf's hand away quickly, feeling her panic rise. She rolled down her legging and stood quickly, trying to pull her boot on as she walked. She tripped in her haste though Legil-Galad caught her with his good arm. Tára looked up at the elf, her eyes widening at the intense look in his eyes.

"I know exactly what I am getting into." Legil-Galad leaned closer, capturing Tára's lips in a kiss. Tára tried to pull away, though Legil-Galad held her to himself gently. The elf pulled away, looking Tára in the eye. She was not prepared for the intensity of emotion in the elf's eyes. As if from far away, Tára heard her name being called. Tára pushed against the elf's chest and Legil-Galad dropped his hands, turning away from Tára. She looked past Legil-Galad to see who beckoned to her. Her face turned crimson when she saw that Gimli stood before them. The dwarf's eyes were a mix of mischief and astonishment.

"What is it?" Tára asked, already moving away from Legil-Galad.

"The Lady Éowyn wishes to see you and to know that you are well." Gimli angled a sharp glance at Legil-Galad, who still stood behind Tára.

"I will go to her at once. She is still in the caves?" Tára walked quickly towards the entrance of the keep, not waiting for an answer. Legil-Galad began to follow Tára though he was stopped at the door by Gimli's outstretched arm.

"I would be wary of the path that you seem to have chosen, elf." The dwarf looked up at Legil-Galad, his eyes glinting. "Your two races seem to have a hard time with things when the heart is involved." With a curt nod, Gimli let Legil-Galad pass. Glancing around the fortress, Legil-Galad could find no trace of Tára.

* * *

Tára practically ran to the glittering caves. Several times, she had to stop and apologize for nearly knocking someone or something over in her haste.

What was she thinking, letting Legil-Galad kiss her? They could never be together. Tára could never ask Legil-Galad to give up his immortality for her. A wave of emotion washed over Tára so strongly that she nearly choked on her tears. Ducking into a deserted nook, Tára slid down to the stone floor. Tears ran down her face as fast as Tára angrily wiped them away. Tára tried to muffle her sobs, but to no avail. A shadow blocked the light into Tára's hiding place. Looking up quickly, Tára saw that it was Legolas. The elf looked stunned to see Tára in her present state.

"Tára, what happened? Are you hurt? Did something happen to Legil-Galad?" at the mention of the elf's name, Tára's tears started anew. Kneeling down, Legolas placed his arms around Tára. The young woman clung to the elf, sobbing into his chest. Legolas ran his hands soothingly up and down Tára's back, speaking to her in elvish.

"Can you tell me what is troubling you? You were fine when I last saw you." Legolas pulled back to look Tára in the eye. He was surprised to see that they were nearly white but said nothing. Tára took a few shaky breaths, trying to stem her tears. After a few moments, she felt she could speak.

"Legil-Galad loves me." Tára said quietly. Her tears nearly started again when Legolas smiled in relief.

"We all love you, Tára. It is nothing to worry about."

"No, Legolas, you don't understand!" Reaching up, Tára framed the elf's face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. "He _loves_ me." Legolas' eyes darkened when he saw the sorrow in Tára's eyes.

"Are you certain?" Legolas asked, sorrow rising in his heart as well. Tára looked away from the elf, feeling heat surge to her face at the memory of Legil-Galad's kiss.

"He kissed me." Tára said quietly, studying her hands. "He did not say the words, but it was in his eyes." Tára looked up at Legolas, hoping that he would have some piece of wisdom for her. The elf only sat back, his face inscrutable.

"My council seems not to cover areas of the heart. I do not know what words of wisdom I can give you. Legil-Galad, whatever choice he makes, will make those choices of his own accord. Who knows? Maybe the Valar have purposed something to come of you two, though who am I to say that?" Legolas lifted Tára's chin, swiping a silver tear from her cheek.

"I cannot ask him to give up his immortality for me. I have read all the accounts; I have seen how they end. Most in heartbreak and all in death. I could not ask that of him." Tára slammed her palm against the ground in frustration. "He can't truly love me. He barely knows me!" Tára looked at Legolas, hoping for an answer from the elf. The elven prince could only look at Tára, no answers coming to his mind. Tára looked away with a sigh, feeling Legolas' hand on her shoulder.

"Let's find some water for your face and then find the lady Éowyn." Legolas stood and offered Tára his hand. Unbeknownst to the pair, Legil-Galad stepped away from the shadow against the wall, hating himself for causing Tára such distress.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me! Once again, life is... well its life. As a point of clarification, if anyone has been wondering, I am melding movie-verse and book-verse for my story. There are just some emotional aspects of the films that fit quite well with my story that I could not give up. The same goes for the book as well. So I'm doing my best to stay as true to Tolkien as humanly possible while allowing myself a little wiggle room with some details. How's that for an oxymoronic statement? ;) I hope you all are enjoying the story still and I thank all my faithful readers and reviewers!


	14. Chapter 14

Tára sat in a wooden tub filled with steaming water. She could feel the aches of the previous days start to fade away. After Legolas had found her in the glittering caves, he had led her to the Lady Éowyn. Though the Sheildmaiden was busy preparing for her return to Edoras, she had told Tára that there was a small chamber prepared for her rest. Éowyn had invited Tára to return with her on the morrow though Tára declined the offer. Legolas had seen her to the chamber and then bid Tára farewell. The elven prince was to ride with a company to Isengard. They were going to parley with Sauruman then return to the Hornburg to decide their course of action. All this Tára knew, though she said nothing, only hugging Legolas fiercely before he left, reminding the elf that she would be waiting for their return. Through all this, Legil-Galad had been absent. Tára had not seen the elf lord since their time in the keep. This did not bother Tára at the time, though now, as she sat, soaking in warmth, the elf came to mind. Tára felt her stomach turn to stone as she remembered Legil-Galad's words.

_... I know exactly what I am getting into…_

Tára shook her head, trying to dislodge her painful thoughts. She grabbed the cake of soap set out for her and began to scrub away the grime that coated her skin. The black uruk blood had soaked completely through her clothes, leaving large sticky patches where her clothes touched her skin. As Tára scrubbed, she tried not to see the still bright scars that crisscrossed her torso and upper legs. Her skin crawled at the memory of the uruks in Mirkwood, though instead of feeling the paralyzing fear, it was replaced with bitter loathing.

_…__I can see what attracted your father to your mother… _Legil-Galad's words rang in Tára's mind, causing bitter tears to come to her eyes.

_My mother was beautiful, not scarred and ugly like I am. How can he love me?_ Tára poured more water over herself, as if the liquid could rinse away her pain. It did not, only reminding Tára of her marred visage as her reflection gazed back at her from the now murky water. She got out of the tub as quickly as her stiff muscles allowed, seeing some clothes upon the single cot in the room. She put on the simple tunic and pants, just thankful that she was clean. Without much thought, Tára stretched out on the cot, sinking into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Legil-Galad sat outside the chamber door, listening to Tára as she moved about the small room. Every so often, the elf could hear a small sniff come from the young woman. Tára was crying, and the elf knew that he was the cause for her tears; he would be a fool if he denied it. Legil-Galad leaned his head against the stone of wall, letting the coolness soak into his weary body. He was thankful that most people remaining in the fortress were staying in the caverns of the Aglarond. His soul was weary and he knew that Tára would need her rest without interruption. Legolas had found Legil-Galad before he left with the Ranger and the Rohirric king, telling the elf lord where to find Tára. Legolas did not mention anything about Legil-Galad's love for Tára but the long look Legolas gave Legil-Galad said more than any words could.

Legil-Galad heard Tára sigh, and then the creak of the cot as she lay down. The elf lord sighed as well when he heard Tára's breathing deepen in sleep. He listened for a while, content in the knowledge that Tára was resting and safe for now. For a moment, Legil-Galad let his mind wander; trying to decipher what had tipped the balance of his feelings for Tára. The young woman was right in that Legil-Galad had only known her for a matter of weeks. That fact though, seemed flimsy to the elf, for stranger things had happened to others before him. He thought back to when he had rescued Tára in Mirkwood. He had feared the worst when he saw the two uruks leaning over her body. It had caused such a burning rage in the elf when he saw the beast tear away Tára's clothing, its carnal intentions brazenly clear. The others of the Elven guard under his command had not been able to stop their captain as Legil-Galad dispatched the uruks in one fluid attack. Once he was sure that the foul beasts were dead, Legil-Galad had wrapped Tára in his cloak and carried her all the way back to the mountain palace. Once the elven healers had taken care of Tára, Legil-Galad had not left her side. He remembered the relief he felt for Tára after a conversation he had had with one of the female healers.

_"__The young woman? Did those beasts… did they…" Legil-Galad looked to the head healer, hoping she understood his question. Though he was a seasoned warrior, Legil-Galad could not bring himself to say the words he was thinking. He could not imagine the hurt and horror of the poor young woman if what he feared happened to her. Just the thought alone made Legil-Galad's blood boil in his veins. He would see every foul beast suffer a painful death and burned to ash for what they did. _

_"__The beasts did not ravage her, my lord, if that is what you are asking?" the healer spoke, snapping Legil-Galad out of his rage-filled thoughts. _

_"__A small conciliation to her, no doubt." The healer added, shaking her head and walking away. Legil-Galad watched the healer disappear down the hall, struggling to reign in his turbulent thoughts. Within minutes, Legil-Galad had made up his mind that he would be there when the young woman awoke. Everyone needs a protector, and Legil-Galad had purposed to be hers._

A small murmur from inside Tára's chamber drew Legil-Galad out of his thoughts. The elf rose and opened the door quietly, seeing Tára sprawled out on the cot, her damp hair fanned out about her face. Though the scars on her face pulled Tára's expression into a mild scowl, Legil-Galad could not stop the small smile that crossed his face. Tára looked the most peaceful that he had seen in a long while. Legil-Galad pulled the rough blanket up around Tára's shoulders, brushing a strand of her dark hair away from her face before he turned away. Legil-Galad noticed that the small fire in the fireplace was nearly out. As Legil-Galad added more logs to the fire, he noticed a scrap of charred fabric. He realized that Tára had burned her clothes. He could not blame the young woman, for knew that the stench of war was not easily washed away, or forgotten. As the fire roared back to life, Legil-Galad pushed the scrap of fabric back into the flames. Once the ruined cloth caught fire, Legil-Galad turned and left the chamber, casting a final look at Tára's sleeping form before he closed the door.

* * *

Tára's dreams were grey and dark as she slept. Visions of the previous battle floated through her dreams, bringing fear in their wake. Tára tried as hard as she could but she could not wake from these unending nightmares. As soon as one ended, another began, trapping Tára in a restless sleep.

_A bright light shined in Tára's eyes, causing her to squint. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that she was standing in a courtyard of stone. Looking over her shoulder, Tára saw that she was in Minas Tirith. Far above her, the dome of the Citadel gleamed bright in the sun. Tára turned and looked in front of her, noticing that a bank of dark clouds moved towards the city. She was about to remark about the cloud when movement at her side drew her attention. Legil-Galad walked past Tára, turning and beckoning to her with an outstretched hand. The elf had a smile on his face though there was a sad light in his eyes. Tára reached out with her left hand, noticing a ring upon her finger. Legil-Galad took her hand, leading Tára to the stairs and then to the top of the wall. The elf stared to the east for a moment then drew Tára close to himself. The elf leaned towards Tára until their foreheads were resting together. _

_"__No matter what happens, Tára, I will always love you." Legil-Galad turned to look at the darkening in the east again, his arms tightening around Tára. Tára followed the elf's gaze, seeing that the field below them was suddenly filled with an army. In no time at all, the army was assembled at the base of the wall; their archers aimed arrows at Tára and Legil-Galad, releasing them faster than Tára could blink. A great battering ram pounded on the gate below them, sending shockwaves through the stones under their feet. Tára tried to pull Legil-Galad away from the wall but the elf would not budge. _

_"__Legil-Galad! We must get off the wall!" Tára turned back to the elf, her heart freezing in her chest. Legil-Galad was leaning against the wall, a black barbed arrow sprouting from his chest. The elf looked at Tára, his eyes filled with sorrow and pain._

_ "__I love you Tára; I always will." Legil-Galad's eyes went blank and the elf fell at Tára's feet. The city around Tára suddenly erupted in flames, and she dropped to her knees as a flaming orb flew over her head. She crawled towards Legil-Galad, pulling his body onto her lap. _

_"__Legil-Galad?" Tára laid a hand on the elf's cheek, feeling tears run down her face. Tára lifted her hand from the elf's face, scrambling back in horror. The skin beneath her hands collapsed into a pile of ash. Tára could not stop her scream as Legil-Galad's body disintegrated before her, leaving nothing but empty bones._

* * *

Tára bolted upright, still screaming. She clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to stem the sobs that rose from her chest. Tears that Tára could not stop ran down her face, as she wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to hold herself together. Taking several deep breaths, Tára was finally able to stop her sobbing. With a final shuddering breath, Tára looked around herself, trying to remember where she was. Pieces of the previous days came back to Tára as her sleep-addled mind began to clear. She was still at the fortress of Helm's Deep, in a chamber that the lady Éowyn had provided for her. Tára looked towards the door, noticing that someone had found her small pack of belongings. She had thought it lost in the scramble to prepare the fortress for war. She began to stand up from the cot but sat back down quickly. Her head spun, causing Tára's vision to swim. After a moment of rest, Tára tried again, standing carefully. Her muscles felt as if they were locked in place and the wound on her leg stung as she moved. It felt like an eternity once Tára retrieved her pack and then sat down on the cot again. She was surprised to see another set of clothing in the pack when she opened it. She noticed that it was another rohirric riding dress and all the other needed clothing to go with the garment. Tára dressed as quickly as she could, hoping that she had not been asleep for too long. A knock sounded at the chamber door as Tára was hastily combing her fingers through her hair.

"Come in." Tára's voiced sounded rusty and her throat felt dry as she spoke. She watched as the door creaked open slowly, smiling in surprise when she saw who was standing in the doorway.

"It's about time you got up, lass." Gimli rumbled from the doorway. "Legolas sent me to fetch you since he was chatting with your elf friend."

Tára's smile faltered for a moment, though she realized that Gimli might not know exactly what had passed between her and Legil-Galad. Suddenly, another thought sprang to Tára's mind.

"Why are you still here? I thought you were going with Aragorn to Isengard?"

"Aye, that we did. We have been there and back and much has happened in between. Your elf friend was standing guard at your door when we returned and told us that you had been asleep for nearly a day." Gimli smiled beneath his beard at Tára as he said this, beckoning her to follow him. "Much has happened during your slumber, m'lady, and we have much to talk about. Aragorn is waiting for Legolas and me in the keep, so I will tell you as we walk" Gimli then set off at a brisk pace, Tára following in silence, listening to all the dwarf said. He spoke of Sauruman's staff being broken and the retrieval of the palantir of Orthanc. He then told Tára of Pippin's misfortune and the Nazgûl flying over their camp on the return from Isengard. Tára, of course knew all this, though she let the dwarf talk. After a few moments, they entered the main room of the keep. The smell of a hasty stew assailed Tára's senses, making her stomach growl loudly.

"We have food ready for you, lass, over on the table." Gimli pointed to a table in the far corner, occupied by many tall dark men. As she passed, the men appraised Tára with stern eyes, though many of them smiled if their eyes met. With some relief, Tára saw Legolas at the end of the table. Legil-Galad sat across from him, flanked on either side by two elves with dark hair. All four stood as Tára sat, making Tára smile a little. Her eyes met Legil-Galad's for a split second before Legolas drew her attention. The elven prince gestured to the elves at Legil-Galad's sides.

"Tára, the lords Elladan and Elrohir." The two elves nodded in their respective order though Tára could not find a way to tell them apart.

"Well met, Light Bringer." The one Tára thought was Elrohir said, a smile lighting up his grey eyes. His twin nodded in agreement and smiled at Tára as well.

"Our father saw of your coming and told us of it before we left Imladris. I certainly did not think that the Light Bringer would come in our age." Elladan spoke, sounding somewhat in awe.

"The lord Elrond already knows of me?" Tára asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the ease that the two elf lords talked about her. She looked at one twin to the other, still trying to find a difference in their identical appearances.

"Foresight is strong with our father, lady Tára. I am not surprised when our father tells us anything he has seen." Elrohir said, smiling again before glancing at Legil-Galad. "He saw that you were with her as well, my friend." Elrohir said, smiling at the blonde elf at his side. His smile faded some when he saw the dark look in Legil-Galad's eyes. Elrohir looked to Tára quizzically but she dropped her eyes to the bowl of stew in front of her, not wanting Elrohir to see the distress she knew was on her face. She began to eat quickly as silence descended on the table. Tára barely looked up when Aragorn came to the head of the table and began speaking. She half listened to what the Ranger was saying, knowing all too well, what his course of action would be. She knew from the histories that he would choose to take the Paths of the Dead. Though the thought was daunting to Tára, she had already made up her mind to travel with Aragorn and his company.

_When he takes the Paths of the Dead, Aragorn will come to Minas Tirith near the end of its siege._ Tára thought. After the battle she had just lived through, the thought of enduring a siege made Tára's blood run cold. She knew that she would eventually see battle again but with her nightmare fresh in her mind, Tára could barely stomach the thought.

_And it doesn't hurt to delay the inevitable sometimes._ Tára thought grimly.

"Lady Tára?" Aragorn's voice snapped Tára out of her thoughts. She looked up at the ranger, seeing the lines of fatigue and worry on his face. Tára felt her face heat when she realized that Aragorn had called her name a few times before Tára heard him. Aragorn's expression became tired and began to speak once Tára's eyes met his.

"The enemy knows who you are and seeks your life." With that one phrase, Tára felt her whole body go cold. The elves and men around her fell silent and still. Gimli looked to Tára, his sharp eyes glinting. Tára looked towards Legil-Galad, seeing that the elf stared at her intently, a shadow of dread in his eyes. Tára pulled her eyes away from Legil-Galad when she heard Aragorn continue to speak.

"I have seen it in the palantir of Orthanc. He wishes for your death second only to the desire for his ring. I fear your path from now on will be fraught with peril." Aragorn looked Tára in the eye for a long moment; it felt to Tára that the Ranger was trying to decipher her thoughts. After a moment, Tára realized the men at the table were waiting for her to speak.

_Fly to the aid of Minas Tirith. You are needed in the White City._ A familiar deep voice whispered in Tára's mind._ Swiftwing will bear you to…_

Tára shook her head, silencing the voice. Fear knotted in her stomach when Tára realized that the Valar wanted her to be in Minas Tirith. Her mind desperately scrambled, trying to find some way around the decision. Thinking quickly, Tára spoke.

"I was wishing to travel with you and your companions, to aid in the fight," Tára stopped and swallowed, her voice feeling suddenly weak. "Though if you think that my presence would pose too great a risk for your purpose, I will find another way." Tára looked up at Aragorn again, afraid what she might see in the Ranger's expression. The man seemed to be deep in thought, his eyes gazing at an unknown object in the distance. Tára looked at Legil-Galad for a moment, seeing apprehension in the elf's eyes. Finally, Aragorn spoke.

"I would have you accompany us, though my heart is uncertain if this is the course you should take." Aragorn looked back at Tára, his expression stern. "I cannot guarantee your safety. Make ready to depart."

Tára stood up from the table quickly, walking towards the door of the keep. She hoped the men could not see the guilt and shame on her face as she left. As she stepped outside, Tára stopped dead in her tracks, her heart turning to stone.

_Your decision has been made, Light Bringer. We will give you our protection, though your chosen path leads to peril. _The familiar deep voice spoke sadly. Tára could feel her hands begin to shake as she ran back to her small chamber.

* * *

Tára sat on her horse in silence, her heart feeling like a stone in her chest. Ever since they had left Helm's Deep, Tára had not talked to anyone. Legil-Galad had cornered her before they left the fortress, readily seeing through Tára's deception. Tára thought back to the elf's words, her conscience stinging her.

_"__You are running." Legil-Galad said, backing Tára into a secluded corner of the keep. She had managed to escape the elf earlier to retrieve her pack but when she re-entered the keep, Legil-Galad was waiting for her. _

_"__I am not running." Tára said, her protest sounding petulant to her own ears. She could not look at Legil-Galad for fear that he would see the truth in her eyes. Strong fingers suddenly grasped Tára's jaw, tilting her chin upwards. Tára had no choice but to look into Legil-Galad's eyes. The disappointment in the elf's eyes stung Tára as if she had been slapped. _

_"__I know you are lying, _melda._ I can see it in the very way you move. I thought you had accepted your duty?" Legil-Galad's expression turned melancholic and he dropped his hand. _

_"__I can't go where they want me to, I just can't!" Tára said, feeling the all too familiar rise of panic in her chest. She looked at Legil-Galad pleadingly, trying to make the elf see her side. Legil-Galad frowned slightly, his fine brows drawing together over his green eyes. _

_"__Please, Legil-Galad, don't make me go." Tára watched the expressions on Legil-Galad's face change in quick succession from disappointment then to grim determination. His next words though, shocked Tára speechless. _

_"__You asked if I thought you a coward before this last battle. I did not think it then. Please do not prove me wrong." Legil-Galad lifted his hand to Tára's face again, seeing her shocked expression. "You know how I feel. I will follow you wherever I am able. This I can promise you." Legil-Galad leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Tára's brow. _

Tára still sat in her morose thoughts, not paying attention to her surroundings. They had spent the night in Edoras, which only brought up more painful memories for Tára. She had kept silent the whole evening, only speaking when spoken to and retiring early. She knew she was being childish but Tára did not care. She could not think of the coming battle without reliving her nightmare. Through all this, Legil-Galad was always at her side, standing as a silent guardian. Even now as they waited for Aragorn to bid farewell to the lady Éowyn, Legil-Galad kept his horse close to Tára's side. Suddenly, Éowyn walked up to Tára, looking up to her with an angered expression.

"Will you not vouch for me, Tára, that I should accompany the lord Aragorn?" the Sheildmaiden stared fiercely at Tára, clenching her jaw in frustration. "Surely they would allow a Sheildmaiden of Rohan if they allow the god's messenger?"

Tára swallowed hard, looking towards Aragorn. The ranger had a determined expression on his face; he frowned slightly when he realized what Éowyn was doing. Tára looked back to the Sheildmaiden, taking a deep breath.

"It is not my place, my lady to say if you can ride with this company." Tára looked away from the hot glare Éowyn was giving her. "Your people need you."

"Very well." Éowyn turned on her heel quickly, the riders parting to make way for her passage. Tára watched as Éowyn mounted her horse, knowing full well what the Sheildmaiden would do out of her desperation. Tára watched Éowyn angrily swipe away a tear as Aragorn gave the order to ride. Before Tára turned her horse to join the column, something strange caught her eye. Though the city was mostly empty, an old woman and a young boy walked towards the gate. The lad's eye's caught Tára's and he smirked at her. All the while, the old woman followed the path of the riders with sightless, white eyes. Tára felt an odd chill snake down her spine as she turned her horse, pressing her heels into the animal to catch up with the rest of the company.

* * *

Tára turned restlessly on her blanket, her mind unable to find sleep. The pervading sense of dread that surrounded the camp did not help Tára's restless thoughts. The Grey Company had ridden through the day, only stopping for a short night of rest. They would enter the paths of the dead at daybreak. Tára was not looking forward to the passage under the mountains, though she knew she had chosen this path and she would see it through. She had tried to push the Valar's warning out of her mind whenever it came to her thoughts; her only result was a growing feeling of apprehension.

Tára rolled over again, staring into the dying embers of the small fire they had risked. With a sigh, Tára sat up, knowing there was no use for her to sleep now. She looked around her, taking stock of the camp. The ranger on watch looked in her direction for a moment, nodding when Tára met his gaze. Tára looked away as the ranger turned his eyes outward again. Tára looked across the fire, realizing that Legil-Galad was awake and watching her. Tára stood quickly; walking away from the elf's knowing eyes. She walked along the edge of the camp, coming to where they had picketed their horses. Tára walked up to one of the animals, absently stroking its soft nose. Something moved at Tára's side, startling her for a moment. She looked over, realizing that Aragorn stood next to her.

"At the time, I wondered why the Lady Galadriel wanted me to train you." Aragorn began without preamble. "One month of training would barely scratch the surface of the art. I was doubtful and it seemed frivolous to my reckoning, to say the least." Aragorn looked over at Tára, a grim smile on his face.

"I was doubtful too." Tára said quietly. "I still am." Tára looked over at the ranger, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. He smiled again then turned his eyes to the horizon.

"I envy you, Tára. You are privileged to be in the council of the Valar. Though some believe that they merely watch as the events of Ea unfold, I would hope that they take some interest in our meager lives."

Tára listened to Aragorn, her heart sinking. She did not expect to hear the note of desperation and fear in the ranger's voice.

"Aragorn, if you are wondering…" Tára looked over at the man and swallowed nervously. His grey eyes were apprehensive though he nodded for Tára to continue. "If you are wondering, you are doing the right thing." Tára looked away from the man next to her, her stomach turning anxiously.

"I sincerely hope so." Aragorn nodded at Tára, and then turned back towards the camp. Tára knew that he would be rousing the men soon. Tára turned back to the horses, sighing. Aragorn's words gave her pause for thought, something that she had avoided for the past two days. She looked over her shoulder, seeing that Legil-Galad had gotten up and was walking towards her. Tára turned her back to elf, only knowing when he arrived when he spoke.

"Tára," Legil-Galad leveled a piercing gaze at the young woman as she turned towards him. "why are you torturing yourself?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." Tára lied. She walked up to another one of the horses, rubbing the animal's nose nervously. She was surprised when she heard Legil-Galad utter an exasperated oath.

"You are acting like a child and I will have no more of it!" Legil-Galad grasped Tára by the arm, turning her towards himself. Tára's eyes widened at the elf's angered expression.

"You are the chosen of the Valar and it is time you acted the part. I heard your conversation with the ranger, Aragorn. The rightful king of men holds you in high regard and you shame yourself by sulking like a child. You know what the Valar would have for you. I know they speak to you; I can tell every time they do."

"Legil-Galad, I… I…"

"No more excuses. You either choose the Valar or not. There is no middle ground." Legil-Galad stared at Tára, his forest green eyes glinting.

Tára stared back at Legil-Galad, her mouth half open in shock. She felt tears of shame come to her eyes. Legil-Galad had seen straight through her and there was nowhere she could hide.

"You do not deserve me." Tára turned away from the elf, missing the look of surprise on Legil-Galad's face. Tára felt Legil-Galad's hand on her arm turning her towards him.

"Tára, I do this because…" Legil-Galad stopped mid-sentence, whipping his head towards the east. A deep, ear-crackling thud sounded closer and closer. The horses began to snort and rear, their eyes rolling nervously in their heads. An ear-piercing screech split the predawn air, dropping Tára to her knees. She looked up, seeing a giant winged shape against the rising sun.

"Nazgûl!" the watchman yelled, sending the camp into an instant uproar.

"No. This isn't supposed to happen!" Tára jumped to her feet as the shape came closer to the camp. She heard Aragorn giving orders and could see the Rangers running past her to retrieve their horses. She locked eyes with Aragorn; his expression was of hopeless anguish. He was the only hope to turn the tide of the war; if he were to fail now, Tára knew her world would never come into being.

_What have I done? _Tára thought, her feet feeling like lead. She stood rooted to the ground, watching as the Nazgûl began to descend on the camp. The wraith shrieked again, sending a knife of pain through Tára's head. Legil-Galad grabbed Tára's elbow, pulling her towards her horse. She could see Legolas and Gimli behind Legil-Galad; Legolas had his bow drawn and an arrow trained onto the approaching shadow.

"Tára, run!" Legil-Galad yelled, trying to pull Tára towards her horse. Suddenly, the hair on the back of Tára's neck prickled and she pulled her arm away from Legil-Galad, shoving the elf with all her strength. A black blur rushed between Tára and Legil-Galad as the Nazgûl-beast tried to pick up Tára in its claws. Tára was driven to the ground as the wind from the creature's wings buffeted her about. The Nazgûl shrieked as it pulled its beast around, aiming towards Tára's prone figure. Tára watched as the beast dove again, opening its clawed feet.

_Your chosen fate is upon you…_ the now familiar voice spoke in Tára's head. For a moment, time slowed. Tára looked towards the camp, seeing the company of Rangers follow Aragorn towards the Paths of the Dead. Legolas still sat upon Arod, his blue eyes wide as he watched the Nazgûl descending on Tára. Gimli sat behind the elven prince, yelling curses in Khuzdul as he jumped off the back of Legolas' horse. Legil-Galad stood farther away from Tára than Legolas or Gimli. He was running towards Tára with his sword drawn, a look of utter desperation on his face.

"No." with that one word, Tára rolled to her feet, feeling the wind as the Nazgûl-beast's claws rushed past her. The creature bellowed as its claws came up empty, gouging long furrows in the rocky ground. Tára ducked as the creature's tail sailed over her head, winding her way around the beast away from the camp. She could hear Legolas and Legil-Galad yelling at her as they realized what Tára was doing. She was on the opposite side of the beast when she heard the whistle of Legolas' arrows. The Nazgûl shrieked in anger as its beast roared in pain, its hide bristling with light gray arrows. Tára's heart sunk as she watched the beast turn towards the two elves and the dwarf. It roared at the trio, lunging at them with its snake-like head. As the beast was about to strike again, Tára ran up to its side, ducking under its wings and slicing at its belly. Her sword sliced into the beasts hide, its dark blood dripping onto Tára's hands. Tára ducked under the beast's wings as it turned towards her, hearing the crack of its jaws just inches away from her head. Great gusts of wind nearly knocked Tára over as the Nazgûl-beast took to the air. Tára ran as fast as she could, hearing the increased tempo of wing beats behind her.

_Run faster, Tára! Hurry! _Tára looked up, realizing that the beast was nearly on top of her. She put on another burst of speed, faltering some when she felt a stinging pain in her neck. A burning heat began to spread from her neck, running down her shoulders and into her arms. Tára stumbled and dropped her sword, realizing that she could no longer feel her hands. Tára looked behind herself, wondering why the Ring Wraith was on the ground now; its beast crouched behind it looking ready to strike. With one final effort, Tára tried to run a few more steps. She stumbled again as her legs became numb, falling heavily on the hard ground. With her last bit of strength, Tára rolled over. The wraith stood tall over her, shackles in its hands. As her sight began to darken, Tára looked beyond the Nazgûl and its beast, seeing an elf and a dwarf, holding back another elf as it tried frantically to free itself from the two holding him. Then, the world went black.

* * *

A/N: Wow... I must apologize for the extreme lag in posting. It was a multitude of different circumstances that kept me away from you all so long. First it was having to take care of my 8mo old son AND my husband with chicken pox and then it was a family vacation for Easter and then it was a week long bout with a stomach virus and then my internet connection pooped out for a few days. All in all... I've been under a little bit of stress. Nonetheless, I thank you all for putting up with my tardiness and I thank all my faithful readers and reviewers for keeping up with my story. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Cold rainwater snaked a trail down Legil-Galad's back, though the elf took no notice. He was already soaked to the skin and had been for a long while. He did not bother to brush back the strands of hair plastered to his face or wipe the splatters of mud off his hands. All he did was run; it was all he could do. The elf lord had lost sight of the Nazgûl and its winged beast many hours ago, though Legil-Galad could not bring himself to stop. Legil-Galad did not think of the impossible odds or who had captured Tára; in his mind, there was only one choice. Tára was captured and he was going to rescue her. It had taken nearly all his strength to break free of Legolas and Gimli as they held him back from following the Nazgûl. His heart still smote with the words that his kinsman had spoken before Legil-Galad began his pursuit.

_"__You cannot go after her! It will surely end in death!" Legolas grasped Legil-Galad's arm, willing the elf to see reason. His words though, had the opposite effect he had hoped. _

_"__Then death is what I choose!" Legil-Galad spat, wrenching his arm away from Legolas. "You told me yourself Tára was like a sister to you and now you abandon her to death? I thought better if you, Legolas, Thranduil's son."_

_"__Tára belongs to the Valar. Do you not think that they will protect her?" Legolas asked, seeing a strange light begin to blaze in Legil-Galad's eyes. _

_"__Belonging to the Valar or not, I have lost one love in my life because of my foolish decisions; I will not lose another." Legil-Galad clenched his fists at his side, feeling rage build inside him. Legolas saw Legil-Galad's movement and stepped in front of the elf lord. _

_ "__Let me pass, prince." Legil-Galad said through gritted teeth. "I would not wish to bring tidings of your death to my lord brother. Go; follow your ranger-king." Legil-Galad stared Legolas in the eye, his rage beginning to boil over. The elf lord could feel his hands begin to shake and knew that if Legolas did not move soon, things would not go well. Legil-Galad noticed that Legolas' dwarf friend had stepped up behind the elven prince, brandishing his axe. The dwarf's sharp eyes recognized the look of madness in Legil-Galad's eyes and he placed a gloved hand on Legolas' elbow. _

_"__Let him go, lad. Aragorn needs us."_

_Legolas looked down at Gimli then back to Legil-Galad, finally seeing what the dwarf saw. He stared at the elf lord a moment longer then spoke._

_"__Go then, kinsman. May the stars guide you and the Valar bless you." _

Legil-Galad had not given Legolas another chance to stop him. Before the elven prince had mounted his horse, Legil-Galad was running. His heart burned with the feeling of betrayal. For a long while, he let his long controlled rage fuel his body, never stopping and unthinking. It was now midday, and Legil-Galad's rage had finally begun to dissipate. It was replaced with an unwelcome feeling of desperation and fear; a feeling Legil-Galad had experienced only once before. It started to chip away at the elf's resolve, creating an ever-growing hole in his heart. Legil-Galad had promised never to begin to fade again, though now, surrounded by the rocky terrain with no sign of Tára anywhere, Legil-Galad began to feel himself slip.

_Why did you let yourself fall for her, Legil-Galad? Valar's messenger or not, she is still mortal. You would give up your immortal life for her?_

"Be silent!" Legil-Galad shook his head, trying to silence his traitorous thoughts. He put on a burst of speed, running as fast as he could through the rocky terrain. It was not long though, before his thoughts returned.

_You have done so well, hiding this side of yourself from her. What will she think when she sees you in your madness?_

"She will still love me." Legil-Galad said into the rain as he ran; the elf pushed himself harder feeling desperation well in him.

_She does not love you… _

"Be silent!" Legil-Galad stopped running, yelling into the rainy sky. "Why did you take her from me? Why must I lose another?" Legil-Galad's voice bounced off the rocks around him, echoing his questions mockingly. The elf felt his anger return as the rain continued to fall from the gray sky, answerless and silent. With an anguished cry, Legil-Galad sank to his knees, pounding his fists into the shallow mud. The elf felt the skin across his knuckles split as his fists smashed into the rock beneath the mud. Lifting his hands, Legil-Galad watched as his blood ran out of his self-inflicted wounds. With a disgusted curse, Legil-Galad tore the edge off his tunic, binding his bleeding knuckles. It was when he finished wrapping his hands that he heard it; the far off cry of an eagle. Leaping to his feet, Legil-Galad frantically scanned the horizon. His heart leapt when he heard the cry again. Eventually, upon the northern horizon, the shape of an eagle appeared out of the clouds. The great bird flew at a fast pace, coming above Legil-Galad in a matter of minutes. As the eagle descended, Legil-Galad could not help but smile. He had never been happier to see Swiftwing. The young eagle landed gracefully, shaking the rainwater off his golden wings.

"You are a welcome face, my friend." Legil-Galad looked up at the eagle, beaming into its golden eye.

"You as well, though I think that I have met better fortune than you and the Light Bringer since last we met." Swiftwing cocked his head at Legil-Galad; taking in the elf's disheveled appearance. He fixed a golden eye on Legil-Galad's hastily wrapped hands, noting the fresh blood soaking through the fabric. "I did not think you carried your sire's temper, though I've learned to not assume much." When the eagle looked up, he was surprised to see a smoldering, haughty look in the elf's eyes; the smile Legil-Galad had greeted him with was long gone.

"I am in need of your help, not your judgment." Legil-Galad felt himself bristle at the perceptive expression in the eagle's eyes. He felt the red haze of anger returning, bringing disgust in its wake. He had thought that he had conquered his blazing temper long ago, though now he was not so sure. Taking a deep breath, Legil-Galad spoke to the eagle in a measured tone.

"Will you bear me to the aid of the Light Bringer?"

"I would help you if you asked me to fly into the fires of the cursed mountain. Your prince made me swear by Manwë himself to help the Light Bringer in her journeys. I would be loath break my oath." Swiftwing answered, ruffling his feathers in mock offense.

"Then let us fly." Legil-Galad said, his grim tone causing the eagle to look at the elf warily. One golden eye met two eyes of smoldering green and for a moment, Swiftwing hesitated. Then, with a sigh, the eagle dipped down, waiting until he felt the elf climb deftly onto his back. With a mighty leap, Swiftwing took to the air, catching the updrafts off the mountains.

"Where do you wish me to fly?" Swiftwing asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Fly me to Minas Tirith."

* * *

_Tára, awaken. The enemy is close… _

Tára opened her eyes, blinking when they would not focus. After a moment, Tára's eyes cleared and she realized that she was sitting in the center of a circular room. The room was chilly and dampness hung in the air, making Tára want to cough if she breathed too deeply. A strange dusky light lit the room though there was no lamp to be seen. A strand of hair fell into Tára's face as she turned her head and she lifted a hand to brush it away. Tára's hands though stopped halfway with a metallic clink. Tára looked down at her hands; they were manacled to the chair she sat in. Heavy chains were wrapped around her torso, ending in shackles around her ankles. For a moment, Tára panicked, pulling against the chains. Suddenly, a burning pain shot down her neck, radiating down her arms and back. Tára sucked in her breath, biting her tongue to keep from screaming. Black surrounded Tára's vision and her ears began to ring. After a long moment, the pain finally started to dissipate, letting Tára breath again. As the darkness receded, Tára realized that her head was pounding painfully. She lowered her head to her chest, trying to focus on something other than the knife-blades in her head. Tára studied her hands for a few moments, noticing that the veins on the back of her hands were an alarming blue-black color. Above the manacles, Tára could see that the blue-black color continued up her arms.

_What is going on?_ Tára thought, her heart beginning to race. The pounding in her head increased as Tára's anxiety grew, making Tára begin to shake. She could feel the tingling burn on her neck start to grow in intensity again, adding to her panic.

_Be calm…_ a deep voice whispered. Taking a deep breath, Tára tried to calm herself. Just as her heart began to slow, Tára heard a low rumble from the wall opposite her. She looked up, seeing a portion of the wall slide away, making a doorway in the otherwise smooth interior of the room. She heard the shuffle of feet as two shapes detached themselves from the shadows beyond the door. A cold spike of fear shot through Tára as the first shape stepped into the semi-light. An orc stood before her, its tumorous skin pale and grotesquely scarred. The creature sneered at her, walking towards Tára with a pronounced limp.

"This is what the master wants me to take into battle?" the misshapen orc leaned towards Tára, breathing its foul breath into her face. It laughed as Tára cringed away; black spittle flew from its mouth into Tára's face, causing bile to rise in her throat. The creature laughed again when it saw Tára's disgust.

"I could break her like rotten wood; though by her looks, it seems she has been sport for someone already." The orc reached a mangled hand out to Tára, brushing his deformed fingers over the scars on Tára's face. Tára shivered in revulsion as the orc's hand trailed down her neck and rested on her collarbone. It began to brush back her hair then stopped, pulling his hand back quickly. He shot an angry look at the shadow behind him and something akin to a growl came from its throat.

"Are you trying to kill me?" the orc hissed, looking back towards the shadow. "She has been given the black blood and you said nothing?" the orc reached toward the sword at his waist with his good hand, though stopped as an ominous laugh came out of the shadow.

"I was bidden to show the wench to thee, captain Gothmog, nothing more. What thou didst with the woman was not our concern." The shadow laughed again. "Ready thy troops." The shadow spoke, all humor vanishing from the voice. Gothmog looked back at Tára for a moment, his black eyes flat and calculating. Then without a word, Gothmog limped out of the room into the shadow beyond.

Tára listened to the orc's limping walk fade into the darkened hall until all was silent. It was then that her second visitor stepped out of the shadows.

"My master wishes thee good health and welcome to his domain." A black clad figure walked towards Tára, casting back its hood. Tára's eyes widened when the figure came closer. Its eyes were bound with a black cloth though that was not what caught Tára's attention. The figure's mouth was inhumanly wide, with deep splits in the skin all around. It smiled at Tára and she flinched back; its teeth were surrounded in black ooze.

"What are you?" Tára asked, unable to help herself. She was surprised to hear how hoarse her voice sounded. She swallowed hard as her throat began to burn.

"I am the Mouth, captain of Barad-Dûr. I see the black blood is flowing through thy veins well. Few have survived its effects." The Mouth smiled at Tára, stopping to stand just inches from where Tára sat.

"Where… am I?" Tára coughed, her throat feeling as if it were on fire.

"You are in the Tower of Dark Sorcery, _Light Bringer._" The Mouth sneered at Tára, his tone mocking. "My master wishes for thee to see our plight, so that thou might beseech Morgoth's cursed siblings to relent from their current course." The Mouth smiled at Tára again, angling his head in an odd, bird-like gesture.

"Your plight?" Tára rasped.

"Without my master and our kind, the world would be out of balance. Wouldst the Valar deign the annihilation of myriad race of beings? We think they hath not thought through their course."

"Yet your master would wipe out all the races of Middle Earth that oppose him." Tára could not help the disdain that rose in her at the Mouth's patronizing tone. "You can tell your master that I will not help him."

"Ah, yes. He said that thou would feel this way." The mouth's ubiquitous smile disappeared and he began to circle the room. "That is why thou hast been- _gifted_- with the Black blood." The Mouth's voice came from behind Tára as he walked; she could not see him but Tára imagined that his demented smile was back on his face. A shiver raced down Tára's spine and she heard the Mouth chuckle.

"Thou wonders what the Black blood is, dost thou not?" the Mouth had circled back around to stand in front of Tára again. It was then that Tára noticed that blue-black streaks, identical to the ones growing on her hands, ran up what she could see of the Mouths arms. There were also streaks on the Mouth's neck, fanning out in spidery lines from a single point behind the corner of the Mouth's jaw. Though his eyes were bound, the Mouth seemed to notice Tára's scrutiny.

"Yes, I was granted to partake of the Black blood for my service to the master. The pain passes, in time." The Mouth smiled knowingly "though the rewards are greater than thou canst imagine."

"What do you mean?" Tára could not help but ask, now keenly aware of the burning pain in her neck. Against her will, Tára's heart began to race.

"If thou chooses to serve the Master, the Black blood will be a boon to thee. If thou refuses the Master's gift, the Black blood will be a scourge and a curse to your body all thy waking days.." The Mouth's smile got impossibly bigger, sending chills down Tára's spine. The choice was so simple to Tára though that she barely thought before she spoke.

"I will not be his. I will never belong to Sauron!" Tára nearly shouted, her voice cracking painfully. Tára began to cough, feeling as if her lungs were on fire. She tried to catch her breath but the burning became stronger with each breath. Tára doubled over as far as she could against her chains, still coughing. Her coughs turned into gags as Tára finally wretched into her lap. All that came up was a sickly smelling black slime. Tára could not hold back a final gag as the rotten taste lingered on her tongue.

"Alas, thou hast chosen a life of pain, for however long it may last." The Mouth said, his tone mockingly patronizing. "I say again, if thou chooses to serve the lord Sauron, he could end thy pain."

Tára looked up through wisps of her now, sweat-soaked hair, her chest still heaving. "I will not… belong… to Sauron." Tára said, managing only a whisper. The Mouth fell silent for a moment, his head cocked to the side as if he was listening to something far away. After a few more moments of silence, the Mouth spoke.

"My master is displeased that thou hast scorned his gift. He hath deigned to bless thee with his own life-blood and thou hast rejected him." The Mouth bent down, as if to look into Tára's eyes, though instead reached towards Tára's neck. Tára stiffened when she saw what the Mouth now held. He rolled Boromir's ring between his pale fingers, sneering slightly.

"My master, though, is not surprised by thy refusal." The Mouth straightened up, letting Boromir's ring fall back against Tára's chest. "He is wise beyond thy reckoning and knowest what thy heart desires."

Pain suddenly shot through Tára's head, stronger than before. Tára cried out, feeling the pain spread through her entire body. She writhed against her chains, pulling against her bonds in an effort to free herself. Tára looked up through her haze of pain seeing the mouth watching her; he sneered at her and leaned close to Tára. In a whisper that Tára barely heard above the ringing in her ears, the Mouth spoke. The Mouth's words though, could have been shouted at Tára; their meaning was all too clear.

"My lord Sauron knows where thy heart lies. The cursed Firstborn is within his reach."

An image of Legil-Galad flashed in Tára's mind. The elf was chained to a wall; his face was nearly unrecognizable under multiple bruises and cuts. Suddenly, a sword flashed towards the elf, slicing through his chest. Blood pooled quickly around the elf as he hung limply from his chains.

"No!" Tára screamed as the vision disappeared. She fought against her chains again, feeling the burning pain hit her full force. She screamed again, hearing the Mouth's laughter until everything faded into darkness.

* * *

_"__Tára, awaken." _

_Tára opened her eyes, closing them quickly as a bright light blinded her. Blinking, Tára was finally able to focus. She knew where she was as soon as she looked around. Tára stood quickly, turning towards the voice that called her. _

_"__You are in grave danger, Tára." The being from her visions sat on his throne, looking at Tára with saddened eyes. Tára looked at the being only to have her eyes drawn away. Another person was in the throne room. It was a woman of dazzling beauty; Tára could not think of any to compare to the woman before her. She was dressed all in white, though her gown shimmered when she moved. Her hair was a rich gold color, falling in gentle waves down her back. The woman wore a circlet upon her brow with jewels that shone like the stars. The woman locked eyes with Tára with the bluest eyes Tára had ever seen. Only the male being's voice finally pulled Tára away. _

_"__Your body and mind are under siege by the very blood of Morgoth's servant. I did not even think that such sorcery could be done but now you are subject to this abomination." The male being looked at Tára and sighed. "It was not the will of Ilúvatar that you should follow the Ranger. I gave you the direction you sought and yet you still rebelled." _

_Tára looked down at her feet, ashamed. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and anger sprung up in her chest._

_"__How am I supposed to trust you when you do not even deign to give me your name?" Tára looked back up, anger blazing in her eyes. The male being smiled, confusing Tára and sapping away her anger. _

_"__I am Manwë Súlimo, lord of the breath of Arda." Manwë gestured to the woman next to him, a tender expression on his face. "This is Varda, my consort. Known to the elves by many names, though you may know her as Elbereth Gilthoniel." Manwë looked back at Tára, his expression kind but serious. "You had only to ask, youngling." _

_For some reason, Manwë's tone struck a chord in Tára's heart. Tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered what had happened over the past days. _

_"__What have I done?" Tára covered her face in her hands, letting her tears fall. Tára sank to her knees, wishing she could hide from the pair in front of her. She was surprised when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, Tára saw Varda standing next to her. She smiled, holding a hand out to Tára. Tára took the offered hand, surprised at Varda's strength as she pulled her to her feet. _

_"__Now is not the time for despair. What's done is done." Varda smiled at Tára, turning her towards herself. "It is time for you to fight. To be strong." _

_Suddenly, a loud booming filled Tára's ears. She looked to Varda but everything went dark. _

Tára bolted awake, her arms and legs pulling against her chains painfully. Her body rebounded in pain at the sudden movement and Tára ground her teeth to keep from screaming. Looking around her, Tára saw that she was still in the same room as before, though she had no recollection of the passage of time. Suddenly, Tára realised that the sound that woke her was the pounding of her heart. Taking a careful breath, Tára leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes.

"You look beautiful, Tára."

Tára's eyes flew open, looking around frantically for whoever had spoken. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw who stood before her. In front of her stood Boromir, looking the same as she had last seen him: very handsome and very alive. The man smiled down at Tára, leaning towards her to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Boromir? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be…"

"Dead?" Boromir finished, smiling mischievously at Tára. He sat down at Tára's feet, looking up at her and smiling. His grey eyes twinkled and he reached up and held one of Tára's hands. Tára flinched when she felt the warmth of his skin, though relaxed when he smiled up at her again.

"You have been busy since last I saw you." Boromir squeezed Tára's hand then let go, leaning back on his hands. The Gondorian's eyes roamed over Tára's face seeming to take in her every feature. "I see you still carry my ring. I'm glad."

"Boromir," Tára looked at the man, desperation rising in her as a flood of memories washed over her. "I wish things had been different between us. I wish I had saved you. I had the power to change the course of your life and I did nothing. If only I had…" Tára stopped when Boromir held up a hand.

"There is nothing to apologize for, Tára. I was privileged to have the time I did with you. Besides, you would never have met that elf that seems so fond of you." Boromir winked at Tára, making her blush. The man began to laugh and Tára joined him, her pain forgotten for the moment. She stopped suddenly when she realized that Boromir was staring at her.

"I wish I could know what you do. Where my brother is, how he is faring, what my father is doing." Boromir looked away from Tára, his expression wistful.

"They are both well, for the time being." Tára found herself saying. "Faramir is captaining his rangers as he defends…"

_Be on you guard Tára…_ Tára stopped speaking as Manwë's voice whispered in her head. Boromir sat up, his expression eager.

"Faramir is still alive? Where is he now? What of the Fellowship? Of the Halfling Ringbearer?"

Boromir's final question set of warning bells in Tára's mind. Boromir smiled at Tára, encouraging her to continue.

"I think I've said enough." Tára said, watching Boromir carefully. The man's expression turned quickly to anger and he sprang to his feet.

"You will tell me what you know, or pay with your life." Boromir stepped closer to Tára, his hands balled into fists at his side. When Tára looked up, Boromir's eyes were all black.

"I will not tell you any more." Tára said, swallowing hard. With lightning speed, Boromir's hands were around Tára's throat. She gasped for breath, fighting against the chains that held her down until once again she fell into darkness.

* * *

A/N: First, I just want to give a big thank you to my faithful reviewers, Lady Dunla, Aralinn, and awenelf16. Thank you so much for your continuing review and praise! It means the world to me.

Thank you as well to all of you who continue to read my story. Writing is proving to be quite the adventure. :)


	16. Chapter 16

Legil-Galad leaned over Swiftwing's shoulder, taking in the alarmed faces of the people below. It had taken Swiftwing nearly two days to navigate the air currents of the White Mountains. It was now close to midday on the second day of their journey and finally the eagle circled over the city of Minas Tirith. Though they were high above the city, Legil-Galad could see the soldiers on the wall readying their bows, aiming them at Swiftwing.

"Land in the courtyard. Now." Legil-Galad said, speaking for the first time since the beginning of their flight. Swiftwing glanced over his shoulder at Legil-Galad quizzically.

"Perhaps it would be better if I were to land outside the walls?" Swiftwing asked. The steely expression Legil-Galad sent him though silenced any further words. Tucking in his wings, the eagle dove through the air, pulling up just before he hit the ground. People scattered as Swiftwing landed, shielding their eyes against the dust stirred up by the eagle's landing. Legil-Galad leapt gracefully from Swiftwing's back, well aware of the soldiers surrounding them. Legil-Galad wondered what he looked like as he caught the frightened expression on one of the younger soldier's faces.

"Where is Mithrandir?" Legil-Galad asked, the tone of his voice leaving no room for questions. The soldiers around him said nothing though, staring at the elf with swords drawn. The courtyard went utterly silent as Legil-Galad waited for an answer. After a minute of silence, Legil-Galad felt the thin restraint on his anger snap.

"If you will not tell me where the wizard is, then I will find him myself." Legil-Galad tightened the wrappings on his knuckles, looking over his shoulder at Swiftwing. "I thank you for your help. Fly now." Legil-Galad did not give the eagle a chance to answer as he began to walk away, absently noting, with satisfaction, that the eagle took flight right away. Legil-Galad then fixed his attention on the nearest soldier as the young man stepped forward, brandishing his sword at the oncoming elf.

"You are not permitted to pass if you intend harm to our fair city." The soldier said, his voice sounding unsure to Legil-Galad's ears.

"Step aside, youngling." Legil-Galad walked up to the soldier until the point of the soldier's sword pressed against his chest. Legil-Galad studied the young man in front of him, analyzing the many weak points he saw though the man wore heavy armor. "I said, step aside." Legil-Galad stared into the young soldier's eyes, knowing the exact moment when the man hesitated. The elf's warrior instinct instantly took over; he smacked the flat edge of the soldier's sword with his hand, knocking the weapon away. Spinning around the young man, Legil-Galad executed a series of punches to the soldier's exposed pressure points. The young man fell to the ground, limp and unconscious, never having a chance to fight. Legil-Galad turned around, watching in silent satisfaction as the other soldiers began to advance on him. His anger made him almost giddy at the chance to fight and the elf found himself enjoying the enraged looks on the soldier's faces. Millennia of control was thrown to the wind as Legil-Galad let his anger take over. Two soldiers came at him at once, though Legil-Galad dodged their attacks quickly. In one swift movement, both men staggered and fell to their knees. As Legil-Galad turned, he saw that the remaining soldiers had fallen back; a man in ornate armor stood in front of them. He wore a royal blue cloak clasped at his shoulder by a brooch in the shape of a silver swan. Legil-Galad watched as soldiers bearing the same swan emblem fell behind the man, merely watching the elf with stern eyes.

"What business do you have here, in my kinsman's city? These are dark days and few can be trusted." The man called out to Legil-Galad, resting his hand upon the pommel of his sword.

"I came here to find the Wizard, Mithrandir." Legil-Galad said, clenching his fists. He could feel his anger boiling over as he watched the number of soldier's increase around him.

"Fell is your countenance, elf, and suspect is your errand. I would be loath to let you pass any farther than this courtyard."

"Can you not grant me what I ask?" Legil-Galad yelled, launching himself towards the lord before him. As his fist was about to connect with the man's unprotected face, a bright light exploded in front of Legil-Galad, driving him back. The elf staggered as his vision returned; he looked down at his chest and saw the point of a white staff pressed against him.

"You have asked to see me, Legil-Galad Oropherion, and here I stand." Gandalf pushed against Legil-Galad with his staff, moving him away from the soldiers. The wizard then walked up to the elf, grabbing a handful of his tunic. Legil-Galad let his arms hang loosely at his side as the wizard glared at him. "We are on the brink of war, master elf, and here you stand; brawling like a tavern drunk. I had thought better of you."

"They have taken the Light Bringer." Legil-Galad said in elvish, watching Gandalf's eyes widen. "Tára knows many things that could turn the tide of this war and_ they_ have her." Legil-Galad's voice cracked as he spoke, his helplessness hitting him full force. He stared into the aged eyes of the wizard before him, his heart turning to stone in his chest when the wizard looked away.

"Follow me, master elf." Gandalf sighed and his countenance seemed to deflate. For once, Legil-Galad noticed the stoop of the wizard's shoulders and the many lines of worry on his face. The wizard began to walk towards the inner levels, merely waving off the protests of the soldiers as Legil-Galad began to follow. The elf walked next to the wizard in silence, waiting for him to speak. What the wizard said though, was not what the elf was expecting.

"I can see the fire in your countenance, Legil-Galad, and it worries me no small amount." Gandalf cast a sidelong glance at Legil-Galad, knowing the exact moment the elf's anger flared; Legil-Galad's face went completely blank though his eyes gleamed dangerously.

"I would hope that you would feel the same as I, if one you loved was taken away to almost certain death." Legil-Galad kept his eyes trained forward, not wanting to see what Gandalf thought of his words. He heard the wizard sigh and knew that the old man was leaving many things unsaid. The pair fell into silence again, walking amidst the people of the city as they bustled about with their daily cares. As they finally entered the sixth level, Gandalf spoke.

"I know not what you would have me do, master elf." The wizard turned to Legil-Galad, a sad light in his eyes. "If the enemy wants the knowledge that Tára holds…" Gandalf let the sentence hang, not wanting to incite the elf's anger. He knew Legil-Galad was thinking the same words that sprang to his mind.

_… __She will be tortured._

"Mithrandir, do you have any idea where they may have taken her?" Legil-Galad finally felt the desperation that he had been pushing away; he nearly grabbed the wizard by his robes as Gandalf turned away to think.

"I have only a guess, though it would be folly to try to enter either place I assume she may be held." Gandalf turned back towards the elf. "I would think the Enemy would want her in a place of strength; protected from any attempt of rescue." Gandalf watched as the elf processed what he was saying. The wild light returned to Legil-Galad's eyes as he looked back at the Wizard.

"I would go to the Dark tower itself if that is where she is."

"Then you have truly gone mad as I have feared." Gandalf said sternly. He held up a hand to silence Legil-Galad when the elf started to protest. "If you go after her now, you will surely condemn Tára to death. The enemy is cunning and he will find what will hurt Tára most."

"Then you would have me abandon her to torture and death?" Legil-Galad asked, feeling his hands begin to shake in helpless rage.

"Peace, Legil-Galad." Gandalf placed a hand on the elf's shoulder when he saw the elf's shaking hands. "I know that you love Tára but now you must trust the Valar to protect their messenger." Gandalf squeezed the elf's shoulder, causing Legil-Galad to look at him.

"What then would you have me do?" Legil-Galad looked at the wizard, the feeling of betrayal returning.

"Stay with me and fight. The men will be heartened to see one of the Firstborn fighting with them and perhaps, if we are fortunate, we may yet be able to free Tára from her captors." Gandalf ventured a grim smile, hoping the elf could see a little reason. He waited in silence, not surprised when it took Legil-Galad a few moments to speak.

"I will stay." Legil-Galad looked at the wizard, a steely glint in his green eyes. "But know this: if I find where Tára is being held and it is within my power, I will abandon all else to get her back."

"I would expect nothing less." Gandalf answered, clapping the elf on the shoulder. "Now, if you will allow it, let's find some new clothes for you to wear." Gandalf turned and started to walk away, waving for Legil-Galad to follow. "I will not have you looking like a madman when you meet the Steward. There is only room for one plagued by insanity in these halls." Gandalf muttered as he led Legil-Galad farther into the sixth level.

* * *

"Tára, wake up." An unfamiliar voice called out to Tára.

"Go away! You are not real!" Tára yelled, her nightmares returning to her. Every time she awoke, Boromir was there waiting for her. She had lost track of how many times she had awoken to a nightmare. Time no longer existed for Tára. She could not remember if she had been captured for hours, days, or weeks. The whispers of the Valar had faded into nothingness as Tára's nightmares progressed; if she tried to reach out for them, all she encountered was pain and darkness. Tára had no choice but to retreat into her lingering nightmares.

Every nightmare began in a different location but every time, would start the same. Boromir would be kind and happy, asking after the welfare of his brother and the state of the war. With each passing nightmare, Tára's mind seemed more muddled than the last. She was starting to have trouble remembering why she should not divulge her knowledge of the histories. All Tára knew was that she should not talk. That did not matter though for every time, Tára would refuse to talk, Boromir would kill her. The last nightmare, they had been back in Lothlórien, by a small pool of water. Tára had felt so safe, so cared for. Boromir had been the happiest she had ever seen him. They had talked and joked about that day's training session with Aragorn.

_"__I have never seen someone pick up swordplay so quickly." Boromir said, smiling in admiration at Tára. "And it takes quite a lot of effort to knock an elf, man, and dwarf on their backsides." Boromir chuckled, leaning back on his hands in the soft grass. Tára did the same, sighing in contentment. The fogginess of her mind did not recede but for once in a long while, Tára felt well and truly safe. _

_"__I wish things could stay this peaceful." Tára heard herself saying. Boromir looked at her, his smile fading. _

_"__You know how this war will end, don't you?" Boromir sat up, leaning towards Tára. The man stared intently into Tára's eyes; after a moment, she noticed that Boromir's eyes had gone black. Tára stumbled to her feet, tripping over the skirt of her dress. She struggled to free her feet, trying her hardest to run from Boromir. Suddenly, Tára felt a vice-like grip on the back of her neck. The next instant she felt the shock of being shoved into the crystal pool. The icy water caused Tára to suck in her breath; she began to choke on the water that she breathed in, its crystal coolness turning to fire in her lungs. Tára struggled against Boromir's iron grip but she could not loose the man's hands as she once again, faded into darkness. _

"Tára, I said, wake up."

"Please just leave me alone." Tára mumbled, terror coming over her at the thought of another nightmare. She tried with all her might to hide back in the darkness of her mind but felt herself unwillingly pulled towards consciousness. Tára felt a hand brush her hair away from her face. The touch burned against her skin almost painfully but Tára felt so cold that she did not care. Grudgingly, she opened her eyes and realized that she was no longer sitting, chained to a chair, but laying down on something soft. Her body still ached in pain but Tára could not help sitting up in surprise. She was in the same circular room as before though now she was sitting in the middle of a giant bed. She felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped in surprise. Tára eyes widened when she saw the person next to her. On the edge of the bed sat the most stunningly handsome man she had ever seen. His hair was raven-black and fell past his shoulders in a thick mass. Her eyes roamed down his face, stopping for a moment on the noble arch of his brows. She noticed the strong line of his jaw and his straight nose when her eyes fell to his mouth. His lips were full with a sensual curve at their corners. He smiled at Tára and she looked up; her eyes met ones of pure black, with no iris to be seen. Tára scrambled back from the man, her hands finding nothing but air under them. She tumbled from the bed, landing on the stone floor painfully. She could feel the burning pain spread from her neck again, causing her limbs to shake. Tára squeezed her eyes shut trying to keep her tears from falling.

"Do not weep, Tára. You will be well in time." Tára felt strong arms underneath her, lifting her from the floor. Her skin burned like fire wherever the man touched. She tried to push herself away from the man but his arms were as unyielding as stone. Opening her eyes carefully, Tára looked at the man again. The set of his shoulders was broad and she realized that his well-muscled arms were bare. His skin though, was paler than ivory and Tára could see blue-black veins running throughout. She chanced a glance down at her own hands and saw that her they were unchanged from before. Without looking any further, Tára knew that the blue-black streaks ran up her arms as well.

"Please, just leave me alone." Tára whispered as the man placed her back on the bed. Even though Tára knew she should be wary of the newcomer, she could not find the strength within herself to try. She wrapped her arms around her knees, watching the man circle to the other side of the bed. He sat on the farthest corner, looking for all the world that he was meant to be there. He stared at Tára for a moment, his black eyes unwavering; he smiled at Tára, sending chills down her spine.

"You have been a most ungrateful guest." The man spoke smoothly, his voice deep and beguiling. Tára could not help but shiver when she listened to the man talk; his voice had a visceral quality that made Tára feel like she could not breathe.

"I gave you the most-enjoyable- dreams and yet you do not give me what I ask."

"Dreaming about a friend who is long dead and then being killed by that person is not what I would call enjoyable." Tára said, eyeing the man warily. A dark smile came across the man's face and he leaned forward the smallest bit.

"I am not called the 'Necromancer' for nothing, dear Tára." The man smiled again, leveling his dark stare at Tára.

_Necromancer? _Tára felt her mind suddenly sharpen and her pulse quickened.

"You cannot be who I think you are; your fair form was destroyed." Tára said, a blanket of fear settling on her. To her surprise, the man laughed.

"You think me fair, dear Tára?"

"Yes, I mean, no… I…" Tára looked away from the man, deciding to divert the subject. "How can you be here, if you are who I think you are?" Tára asked, surreptitiously scooting away from the man.

"How can I not, Tára? Little do the 'free peoples' know of my power and much is assumed about my limits. This is my realm and you are now part of my possessions. It is nothing for me if I choose to be ruling from my tower or to walk among my servants"

"Then you are Saur-…" Tára began when suddenly the man was standing right in front of her. He quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Tára flinched away from the burning heat of his hand but found that she could not pull away.

"This is not a matter of names, my dear Tára, but a matter of what we both want." The man then let go, stepping away from Tára. He began to pace the room, looking relaxed, though when Tára looked into his darkened eyes, she saw an ember of agitation.

"What then should I call you?" Tára asked. She shrank back when the man turned a hateful glare her way. In that split-second, Tára decided that the man was not fair at all. His face bore the visage of physical beauty but the venom that poured from his gaze robbed his appearance of any attractiveness.

"I told you, it is not a matter of names" the man stopped pacing and suddenly smiled. "Though if you insist on a name you may call me Master or Necromancer." The man fell silent and looked over at Tára, his expression smug.

"Fine, Necromancer. What do you want with me?" Tára watched as the Necromancer stopped pacing and turned towards her. He walked until he stood merely inches away from Tára. To her surprise, the Necromancer's expression seemed almost kind. He reached out a pale hand and traced the scars on Tára's face; she pulled away as his fingers left a burning trail on Tára's skin. For a moment, Tára could not think clearly. This was not what she expected from any of her captors.

"I seek your knowledge, Tára." Once again, the Necromancer brushed his fingers across the scars on Tára's face. Suddenly, the Necromancer took hold of Tára's hand, lifting her to her feet. He led her to a pedestal with an obsidian bowl on its top. It was filled with water and as they approached, the Necromancer brushed his hand over its surface, leaving a trail of steam. Tára looked down into the liquid, seeing her face. She did not recognize herself, though she knew it was her own reflection because of the scars across her face. Otherwise, she did not know who stared back at her from the dark water. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her skin was deathly pale. The startling blue of her eyes seemed faded and dull and a black ring stood out around the pale blue. On her neck, just below the corner of her jaw was a dark, blue-black mark. Spidery, dark veins snaked out from the mark, running down her neck until they were hidden under the neckline of her ragged clothing. Her lips were bluish and pale, as if she were on the brink of death. Suddenly, Tára felt the warmth of the Necromancer's breath against the side of her face. It caused shivers to run up and down Tára's spine.

"In return for your knowledge, dear Tára," the Necromancer whispered, passing a hand again over the water. "I can give you what you desire most."

Tára looked back at the water, gasping in surprise. Her reflection stared back at her, though her face was as it had been before she had come to Lothlórien, before she had met the Fellowship. Suddenly, the image changed, and Tára's reflection was replaced by two images. One was of Legil-Galad, holding her in his arms and kissing her, the other was of the elf, lying cold and lifeless upon the wall of Minas Tirith.

"No!" Tára felt tears immediately well in her eyes.

"You can spare the elf this fate." the Necromancer turned Tára around to face him, brushing her tears away with a surprisingly gentle hand. "I know the Valar; they are capricious and cunning. They will not and cannot promise you the safety of the one you love." the Necromancer placed his hand under Tára's chin, lifting her face to look in her eyes. "If you will but serve me, the Lord of Middle Earth, the elf will be spared any harm in the coming storm." The man then leaned close to Tára, whispering in her ear. "And you will be free of the chains of Valinor." Then the Necromancer kissed the corner of Tára's jaw, sending a fiery burst of pain throughout her body. Tára's knees buckled but the Necromancer's arms held her up. Every time her heart beat, fire raced through her veins and she felt as if her very skin was burning off her body. Tára looked up at the Necromancer, her mind struggling through the fog of pain. The man's expression was filled with satisfaction.

"You must make your choice soon, dear Tára, for the battle is set to begin. Fight with me and you will receive your reward."

Tára looked into the man's eyes, the fiery pain increasing. For a long moment, she stood in silence, not wanting to breathe.

"You have but to say my name and you will be mine." Necromancer watched Tára, smiling when her tears began to fall.

_We are with you Tára. Do not succumb to his poison! _A familiar deep voice rang suddenly through Tára's mind. Her mind sharpened and she pulled herself away from the Necromancer's grasp. Her body still burned in pain, though Tára felt a new strength in her. She looked into the black eyes of the man in front of her.

"I will not be yours, Sauron! Not now, not ever." Tára yelled, watching as the Necromancer's face contorted into a mask of rage. Before Tára could think, the Necromancer swung his arm towards Tára, catching her with the back of his hand. Tára's vision flashed as she was flung across the room, slamming into the stone wall. Within seconds, Tára felt herself being picked up off the floor. She tried to open her eyes but could not focus on the room in front of her. Suddenly, a powerful hand was around Tára's throat, squeezing until she could no longer breathe. Tára began to panic, grasping at the hand that held her.

"You have made your choice, _Light Bringer_." The Necromancer yelled, his voice echoing in the small room, filling Tára with dread. "I will tear your elvish lover apart and impale his head on my standard. I will give the rest of his miserable carcass to my orcs for their own perverse desecrations and I will kill all that you care for until none is left! No one can refuse the Dark Lord and live." After every word, the Necromancer slammed Tára's head against the wall, punctuating his words with pain. "I will show the Valar how powerless they really are; how miserably naive they are to the true workings of the world. Middle Earth will be mine!"

"You… will never…win." Tára rasped. A demonic yell rang in the chamber as Tára felt herself moving through the air. White light flashed in her vision as pain exploded through her body. She slumped to the floor, unable to breath. Tears ran down her face as the chamber was suddenly silent. In the dusky light, all Tára could see was a single chair in the center of the room draped with chains. A sudden sob escaped her lips, wracking Tára with pain. Darkness came over Tára like a comforting blanket and Tára did not fight against it. Before all faded, Tára saw Legil-Galad's face. The elf was smiling and Tára felt her tears renew.

_I love you Tára… _ Legil-Galad's voice whispered in Tára's mind.

"I love you too, Legil-Galad." Tára whispered, finally succumbing to the darkness.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know, Tára is going a tad cuckoo... poor girl. And yes, The Necromancer = Sauron and Sauron = The Necromancer. I figured I would give the Dark Lord a little wiggle room in his realm(if that makes sense). I'll let you all stew if that was the "real" Boromir in the previous chapter or not... or maybe it was who the Necromancer thought Boromir was? Hmmm... O.k., I'll stop my ramblings. I'm sorry for the wait, again, and many thanks to all my faithful readers and reviewers!


	17. Chapter 17

Legil-Galad stared at his reflection in the mirror before him, seeing what had frightened the guards at the gate of the city. His face was haggard with exhaustion and his forest green eyes had the look of a wild animal. Legil-Galad had seen himself like this only once before, millennia ago. At that time, Legil-Galad had vowed never to let himself be controlled by his anger. Looking back though, the elf had never expected to love again. The whole time he had flown with Swiftwing, Legil-Galad had argued with himself, trying to find a way to justify his all-encompassing anger; He was never able to find an answer. With no small amount of self-disgust, Legil-Galad decided to throw his vow to the wind. Legil-Galad had thought more than once since Tára's capture that he would rather feel the burning of fire in his soul than to feel nothing at all. Still, a small part of his mind whispered that he should be wary to feed the inferno of his anger any longer. The more persistent the whispers became, though, the harder Legil-Galad pushed them away.

_I can control the fire. I have before. _Legil-Galad thought to himself, pulling a royal blue tunic over his head. He tightened the belt provided, absently noting the silver tree embroidered on the front of his tunic. He had no doubt that the Steward of Minas Tirith had a desire to impress at any cost. The chamber given to Legil-Galad was certainly more opulent than the elf had expected. After a moment of thought though, Legil-Galad realized that he did not care. The Steward could have housed him in the barracks with the soldiers and Legil-Galad would be just about as comfortable.

_Well, maybe not the barracks. _Legil-Galad thought with mild chagrin. He chuckled in grim mirth as he remembered how quickly he had disarmed the three soldiers at the gate. The elf turned around, looking at the grand bed before him. On the bed lay his sword; Legil-Galad picked up the weapon for a moment, considering the implications of wearing it around the city. He had certainly made a name for himself already and Legil-Galad wondered if he would be doing himself any favors by keeping his weapon at his side. After a moment of thought, Legil-Galad put his sword back on the bed. A sharp stab of pain shot through Legil-Galad's soul when his eyes fell on the bundle at the foot of the bed. It was Tára's sword. He had found the weapon on the ground where Tára had fallen to the Nazgûl. In his haste to rescue Tára, Legil-Galad had left everything except his sword and cloak at the camp. When he found Tára's sword, he had wrapped it in his cloak and worn it on his back since then. The inferno suddenly flared in Legil-Galad's soul as the memory of Tára being carried away by the Nazgûl came to his mind. His heart began to race and his hands shook at his side.

_I can control this; I know I can._ Legil-Galad inwardly coached himself again. As he took a deep breath, the words of a past mentor came to mind. The elf had been millennia old when Legil-Galad had first met him. It was after Legil-Galad fled his home in Lindon. The aged elf had been able to see through Legil-Galad's madness to the rage that fueled its fire.

_"__Be wary to feed the flames of wrath, youngling. Though the cage of madness be wrought with steel, a fire burning hot enough will melt its bars like ice." _

A knock at the door interrupted the elf's thoughts. He strode to the doorway quickly, opening the door in one fluid motion. A startled page stood on the threshold; the lad looked up at Legil-Galad warily, swallowing before he spoke.

"The lord Denethor has requested your presence at the evening meal. I was sent to inform you that it is past time for you to be in the lord's hall and many are waiting for your arrival." The page's voice dwindled to a scared whisper as he spoke, finally ending in a pained squeak. He shuffled his feet anxiously, looking up at Legil-Galad from time to time. Legil-Galad studied the lad for a moment, wondering if he had missed something on his appearance before he walked to the door. Legil-Galad was about to question the lad when surprisingly, the boy spoke.

"My eldest brother was the first soldier you beat." The page whispered. "He is still at the healers. You must have used elvish magic to win, for my brother is the strongest person I know." The page looked up at Legil-Galad with large eyes. Legil-Galad then noticed that the boy's hands were clenched into fists at his side. That the lad was standing up for his brother pierced through Legil-Galad's belligerent mood like a beam of light in a darkened room. Legil-Galad knelt to the boy's level, looking into the boy's grave, grey eyes.

"Then I must beg your pardon. It was not my intent to cause your brother harm." Legil-Galad's conscience smote him for the lie he told, though he did feel a little remorse for the lad's sake. The boy smiled triumphantly at Legil-Galad, his stormy expression disappearing. "I knew you must've used magic; my brother is better than that." The page smiled smugly, looking a little more confident than when Legil-Galad first met him. The elf started to smile but then remembered where he was expected to be. The inferno flared and Legil-Galad stood quickly so that the boy would not see the anger in his eyes.

"You were taking me to the Steward's hall?" Legil-Galad asked in a clipped tone. The page's expression became panicked and without a word started to lead Legil-Galad down the hall. Within a short amount of time, Legil-Galad was in front of a grand archway. The page stopped at the threshold.

"Your place is set and ready." The boy waved to the grand room beyond, bowing when Legil-Galad walked by. Legil-Galad walked into the hall on silent feet; he looked up in surprise when a voice called out to him.

"It is an honor to have one of the elven kindred in my halls."

At the head of the table, an austere man sat, beckoning to Legil-Galad. The elf swallowed the annoyance that rose in his throat when he realized the man was waiting for him to offer obeisance. Legil-Galad fixed a respectful smile on his face as he walked to the head of the table. The Steward, Denethor, barely smiled as Legil-Galad approached.

"Many thanks I offer to you, lord Steward, for your hospitality and provision." Legil-Galad said, bowing slightly at the waist. He studied the Steward before him, noticing the shrewd look in the man's eyes. For a moment, elf and man hesitated, staring each other down in silent appraisal. Then, Denethor smiled, waving Legil-Galad to his seat. Legil-Galad sat down in silence, taking the empty place beside Gandalf. All the while, he watched the Steward.

"I know that you are acquainted with few at this table," Denethor began, waving his hand in a broad gesture over those who sat around him. "I know that you have met my kinsman, Imrahil, earlier in the day." Denethor gestured to a man at his right hand. Legil-Galad looked up, recognizing the man in an instant. He was the lord at the gate of the city who Gandalf saved from Legil-Galad's attack.

"Indeed, we have met." Legil-Galad said, nodding at Imrahil. The man surprised Legil-Galad by nodding back, though his eyes remained wary. Denethor observed this all in shrewd silence; then, as if he were reading off a list, the Steward gave the names of all at the table. Legil-Galad listened with disinterest, only nodding at the men as their names were called. Then they all returned to their meal as a blanket of silence fell. Legil-Galad felt the unease running through the people at the table and at times, he caught the furtive glances the men sent his way. The meal continued at a maddeningly slow pace for the elf, causing Legil-Galad to tense with agitation.

"Peace, Legil-Galad." Gandalf whispered in elvish. The wizard had started to sense the elf's mood; like the shadow of a storm, he could feel Legil-Galad's pent up feelings begin to overflow. He cast a quick look at the elf, seeing a fire raging in his green eyes. Legil-Galad merely looked away from the wizard, crumpling a linen napkin in his fist.

"If the days permit, I would hear what news you bear, elf." Denethor said suddenly, bringing all eyes to Legil-Galad.

"What news I would bring you, would be of no use to these halls, my lord." Legil-Galad said, the steely edge of his voice causing the lords at the table to sit forward in their seats.

"Come now, I hear you are the captain of the Elven king's guard; I know that the enemy has besieged your realm for many years. I had heard rumors that your kind has lost many to the evils of the enemy; that you have given up the fight." Denethor said with a bland expression. Legil-Galad looked up at the man, seeing provocation in his eyes, contrary to his disinterested demeanor.

"These days are dark and evil, Steward. I would be wary to speak of the Abhorred One while you sit on his doorstep." Legil-Galad spoke, his voice cold. "I beg your leave, lord Steward." Legil-Galad stood, bowing slightly. Before Denethor could answer, Legil-Galad turned on his heel and was out of the hall. The inferno was burning in Legil-Galad's chest and for a moment, the elf let his anger burn hot.

_Who is that man, to think he knows the suffering of my people? Who is that man to treat me like a mere messenger? _Legil-Galad inwardly fumed, walking blindly through the halls of the palace complex. He turned down a hall, hearing the clash of metal ring against the stone walls. The passage was short and Legil-Galad stepped suddenly into the starless night. Legil-Galad looked around himself, seeing that he was standing on the edge of a torch lit practice ring. There were a few men out sparring or practicing on their own though Legil-Galad guessed it was for their own peace of mind than actual warfare. Legil-Galad walked silently to the opposite side of the ring, leaning against the wall. From his position, Legil-Galad could look down upon the lower rings of the city. He watched a patrol of soldiers make their way through the streets, though otherwise the city sat in brooding silence. Legil-Galad turned his eyes toward the east, his keen vision watching the dark bank of clouds that the covered the night sky. He fixed his eyes on the faint fiery glow that flickered over the top of the mountain's bordering Mordor.

_Somewhere, Tára is trapped somewhere in that cursed land and I am here, bowing and scraping before a fading lord. _Legil-Galad thought bitterly. He sighed, leaning on the edge of the wall dejectedly. It was after a few moments that Legil-Galad heard footsteps coming towards him. He straightened up, looking to his side. A man stood next to him; he was a handsome man with raven dark hair and a noble bearing. Legil-Galad recognized the familial resemblance immediately, seeing similarities to the Gondorian, Boromir and the Steward Denethor in the man's features.

"You have started many rumors, Legil-Galad of the Woodland realm." The man turned towards Legil-Galad, a small smile on his face. The expression did not reach the man's eyes, though; Legil-Galad could plainly see the bitter sadness in the man's gaze. "My men have been talking about your exploits at the gate since the time I arrived. Save for the three that you bested, most of the men are in awe of your skills. My brother Boromir would have loved to learn how you fight." The man turned his face towards the horizon then, leaning against the wall as Legil-Galad had before. Legil-Galad stood in silence, unsure of what he should say. He had heard the man's name while talking with Gandalf, though he had not expected to meet the Steward's younger son.

"I offer my condolences, for your brother." Legil-Galad finally offered, watching the man sigh.

"Boromir was always the leader, the fighter. He tended to be a little brash but his plans always went his way." The man sighed again. "Now it is up to me, Faramir, the scholarly captain, to gain back the ruined city of Osgiliath. The city is as good as lost." Faramir's spoke, his voice bitter. "Though, I have heard rumor that you have lost one close to you as well." Faramir cast Legil-Galad a sidelong glance.

"Tára is not lost." Legil-Galad said vehemently. He could feel the heat in his chest begin to rise; he took a deep breath to quell the flame. Strangely, he felt a kinship with this man; he did not deserve any of Legil-Galad's wrath. Taking another deep breath, Legil-Galad began again.

"The woman I love, Tára, was loved by another before me." Legil-Galad said, his chest strangely tight. Faramir looked at him quizzically, giving Legil-Galad no choice but to continue. "When I met Tára, she was simply acting as a messenger. She had been staying in Lothlórien before that. It was there that Tára met Boromir." Legil-Galad could tell that he had Faramir's attention and could feel the man's intense gaze. Legil-Galad continued to tell everything that Tára had told him about Boromir and her time in Lothlórien. He told how the man had professed his love for Tára and his wish to bring her to Minas Tirith after the war. Then Legil-Galad told of Tára coming to Mirkwood, her being attacked and their departure from the woodland realm. He ended, telling how they had seen Boromir's funeral boat and Tára's goodbye to the man.

"I believe she loved him, in her own way. Even now, she carries your brother's ring on a chain about her neck. She has not been parted from it since I have known her." Legil-Galad looked again to the east, his heart heavy.

_Yet you do not know if she will return your love. _These words floated mockingly through Legil-Galad's head.

"You fear she does not love you." Faramir said, his words a statement more than a question. Legil-Galad looked at Faramir incredulously, wondering if he had actually spoken aloud. Faramir smiled at the elf, making Legil-Galad wonder if he was as transparent as he felt.

"I can hear it in the way you speak of her." Faramir turned away from Legil-Galad, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I have no wise counsel for you my friend. I am no expert on matters of the heart and my own heart is heavy this night." Faramir straightened, placing a hand upon Legil-Galad's shoulder and looking the elf in the eye. "One thing I tell you though is this. Boromir had women throw themselves at his feet all his adult life yet he chose none of them. He had a homeland full of beautiful maids and he chose Tára over all. A man does not choose a diamond in the rough unless he sees what she will become. If she returns your love or not, I would be loath to abandon this woman at all costs." After these words, Faramir dropped his hand and sighed. "I wish we had met under different circumstances, Legil-Galad. I would enjoy learning what knowledge you have to share from your many years."

"I as well, lord Faramir." Legil-Galad returned. Suddenly, a thought occurred to the elf. "I do not remember seeing you at your father's table. Surely you must have been…" Legil-Galad let his words fade when he saw the expression on Faramir's face. For a moment, pain shone in the man's eyes, raw and intense. Then the expression was gone, replaced with detached formality.

"I had much to prepare for my lord father before my errand on the morrow. I bid you goodnight and fair travels if we do not meet again." Faramir nodded at Legil-Galad then turned away, making his way back towards the palace.

Legil-Galad watched the man go, wondering at the pain he saw. After a few moments, Legil-Galad decided to find his way back to his chamber. As he was turning from the wall, a strange light caught his eye. He looked back towards the east, his eyes widening. Between the foremost mountain peaks, a beam of ghostly light shot to the sky. Without having to think, Legil-Galad knew that the battle had begun.

* * *

"Is she dead?"

"No, you fool! The Master still has use for her."

Tára felt rough hands on her body, dragging her across the cold stone floor. Her head pounded in pain and she could barely breathe without pain stabbing through her chest. Her eyes flickered open for a moment as she tried to remember where she was. The orange glare of torchlight seemed unnaturally bright, sending knife blades of pain into Tára's head. She immediately slammed her eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. She heard a dark chuckle accompanied by an unamused grunt.

"I told you she wasn't dead." The dark voice said, sounding uninterested. The voices sounded far away to Tára, as if she was listening at the opposite end of a long tunnel. Tára tried to open her eyes again when the rough hands returned, grabbing her painfully around the waist. Her eyes popped open when the stench of rotting meat hit Tára full force, causing her stomach to turn. A tall uruk had his arms around her, his pitiless face uncomfortably close. She could feel her bile start to rise when she was heaved roughly from the floor. The room spun around her in an unfocused blur and Tára's body was wracked in pain. Her ribs crackled sickeningly as she felt herself being tossed over a broad shoulder. Her pain increased as the blood rushed to her head, making her ears ring and head throb. She could not stifle her groan of pain as the uruk's crude armor stabbed into her midsection. The uruk chuckled again, turning towards the door. Another, shorter orc carrying a torch followed the uruk. It sneered at Tára when it caught her watching him.

"You're lucky the Master wants you alive, else we would have had ourselves a little fun." The orc looked above Tára and she assumed the uruk had looked over his shoulder at the orc. She felt the rumble of a growl in the uruk's chest.

"The Master told us that no one speaks to her except Gothmog and the Shriekers, so shut up!" the uruk growled. Tára groaned again as the uruk's voice rang in her ears.

"You'll have more to groan about in a minute." The smaller orc said, laughing to himself. Tára looked up at the orc when she realized what he was talking about. The uruk began to jog through the darkened halls, bouncing Tára painfully against its shoulder. What little breath Tára had left in her was driven out of her lungs as the uruk ran. Soon, darkness ringed her vision and Tára did not fight it. She heard the orc and uruk speaking to each other but her mind could not make sense of their words. Then, closing her eyes, Tára let the darkness surround her, blocking out all sight and sounds.

When Tára opened her eyes again, she did not know where she was or how long she had been unconscious. The sound of many feet rose up from somewhere below her and a constant booming cadence pounded in Tára's ears. It took her a moment to realize that she was on her back, staring at the sky. Whatever she was lying on rocked jauntily back and forth, jarring Tára around painfully. She had no recollection of time and the dark clouds roiling overhead let no light through from the sun or moon. Tára closed her eyes again, trying to stop the pounding in her head as she continued to rock back and forth. After a moment, Tára realized her wrists stung and her fingers were tingling. She looked towards one of her hands, her eyes seeming to take and eternity to focus. When she was finally able to focus on her hand, Tára saw that she was tied down to a crude wooden frame. She was suddenly acutely aware of the rope around both her wrists and ankles; she pulled against the ropes with what little strength she had left. The small amount of exertion sent pain shooting through her body and head. Tára groaned and laid her head back down. The jaunty rock continued, sending jolts of pain through Tára's body as she shifted from one side to the other. Then, a high piercing call rang through the air. Tára's eyes immediately popped open as the shadow of a Fell Beast passed over her. She felt her heart race in panic, as she suddenly realized where she was; she was in the midst of the Morgul host. Though it pained her, Tára craned her neck to either side, looking for something to tell her where she was. In the half-light, Tára saw that she was under a ruined stone archway and that many other stone buildings stood in ruin around them.

_Osgiliath. I'm in Osgiliath. How long was I unconscious? How long have I been captured? _Tára thought in panic. Her mind though, refused to work and Tára could not piece together the days of her captivity.

"She's awake! Give her the grog. The Master says we must keep her alive." A gravely shout rang over the noise of the army.

Tára looked around again in panic, her eyes meeting those of a terribly misshapen orc. After a moment of thought, Tára remembered its name was Gothmog. He was the second in command of the Morgul host. Tára was still staring at Gothmog when a shadow rose at her feet. Tára looked up, recognizing the uruk that had carried her out of the room of her nightmares.

"This will be easier if you open up." The uruk's expression was unreadable as he crouched over Tára. He waited for a moment, grimacing in apparent disgust at the fear in Tára's eyes.

"Get on with it you maggot!" Gothmog yelled. The uruk growled something under its breath and grabbed Tára's jaw with a massive hand. He pried Tára's mouth open with ease as he pulled the stopper out of a leather skin with his teeth. He dumped the contents of the skin into Tára's mouth, clapping a hand over her nose and mouth so she could not breath. Tára struggled against the uruk, the grog burning her mouth and throat. Finally, Tára swallowed the burning liquid; tears ran out of her eyes as the vapors stung her nose. Once the uruk was sure Tára had swallowed all the grog, he uncovered her mouth and nose. Tára gasped for breath, her stomach feeling as if it was on fire. She coughed several times, finally going limp as pain wracked her body.

"I don't see why we bother keeping you alive." The uruk still stood over Tára, his face a mix of frustration and confusion. "You're as good as dead with the black blood in your veins." The uruk stared at Tára for a moment, its expression again unreadable.

"Did she take it?" Gothmog's rasping voice asked.

"Yes, she drank it all." The uruk answered, jumping down from Tára's perch.

"Please, can you at least loosen these ropes a little?" Tára asked as the uruk walked by. Her voice cracked as she spoke, making all the orcs and uruks around her laugh cruelly. Gothmog came closer and Tára realized her rode upon a giant warg, making Tára wonder, what sort of beast carried her.

"You will get no pity from us, witch. Until the Master tells us what your use is, you'll be strapped to those boards." Gothmog turned his warg away, making his way back through the host of orcs and uruks. Tára followed his progress as best she could. A shadow passed over the column, drawing Tára's eyes upward. Another Nazgûl and its fell beast flew over the ruins of Osgiliath, landing atop a collapsed building. Though the wraith was far away from Tára, it looked right at her. For a moment, the wraith held Tára in its sightless gaze then looked to where Gothmog hobbled up the ruined stones. Tára looked away as the two conferred together, slamming her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the orcs. After a few minutes, Tára felt her pain lessen some as the heat from her stomach spread throughout her limbs. Tára fought against her rising drowsiness, fearing the orcs would try to take advantage of her if she slept. It was a short battle though, for before Tára knew, her body succumbed to an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Legil-Galad stood in the palace practice ring again, gazing down at the Pelennor fields. A messenger had come and recently departed, telling that a great host had issued from Minas Morgul. Osgiliath had been lost and Faramir had retreated to the causeway forts. Even now, through the dim light, Legil-Galad could see the ranks of the enemy forming outside of Osgiliath. He studied the growing shadow on the plain, vainly hoping to see any clue of Tára's fate. He came up empty handed, feeling the fire rise in his chest. He continued to stare at the field below as he heard footsteps drawing close.

"I beg your pardon, master elf, I was wondering if we might have a word?"

Legil-Galad turned slowly, his expression stormy. Several soldiers stood before him, their expressions serious but oddly hopeful.

"Though we have just been relieved of our posts, we wished to ask if you would show us how you fight." The spokesman of the group looked at Legil-Galad with and unwavering stare; Legil-Galad though could tell the man was not fully at ease.

"What good will this knowledge be to you when we stand on the brink of war? Your time would be better spent resting and preparing for the battle to come." Legil-Galad said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Be that as it may, there are some of us who cannot rest though our bodies are idle." The soldier's expression waivered for a moment, showing his inner turmoil. "And we are guards of the Citadel and cannot leave though we are done with our duties for the day."

For a moment, Legil-Galad's anger flared in annoyance and he nearly sent the men away. However, for the first time in many days, Legil-Galad's compassion won out over his anger. He studied the men before him, seeing the desperation in their eyes.

"Very well." Legil-Galad walked briskly past the men to the center of the practice ring. The men lined up facing Legil-Galad, each watching the elf in interest.

"What I am about to show you is an ancient style of fighting that even few of my kind know. It is called _pet-muina_, or the 'Secret strike.'" Legil-Galad shook out his hands, taking a relaxed stance in front of the men. "It is not a style to be taken lightly, for with the proper amount of force, you can kill a man." As Legil-Galad said this, he waved one of the soldier's forward. The man approached Legil-Galad cautiously, putting his hands up in a pugilistic stance.

"The key to this art is speed. Do not give your enemy time to think." Legil-Galad then whirled around the man, knocking his punches aside. With two of his fingers, Legil-Galad pressed behind the soldiers exposed collarbone. He did not use all his strength though the man still dropped to the ground. Legil-Galad let up as soon as the man hit the ground, stepping back quickly as the soldier stumbled to his feet. The man rubbed his collarbone as his comrades jeered behind him.

"Now, here are the weak points of the body. You should know most from your combat training, though some may be new to you." Legil-Galad then paired the men off, demonstrating various attacks and holds to disable an opponent. The men picked up the beginner's moves quickly, laughing at each other when one was able to drive another to the ground. Legil-Galad would occasionally pull a soldier aside to demonstrate an attack.

"You also want to be aware of any physical injuries your opponent manifests." Legil-Galad explained. He began his attack on a soldier, aiming quick strikes at the man's midsection. As Legil-Galad punched with his left arm, the unexpected happened. The soldier dodged the strike, turning his body and countering quickly. The man's blow landed on the back of Legil-Galad's left arm, right on his healing injury from Helm's Deep. The elf fell back quickly as pain shot up his arm. The elven kind healed quickly from many injuries though Legil-Galad knew his arm was far from mended. The Gondorian soldier dropped his arms as Legil-Galad fell back, looking at the elf in concern.

"How did you know?" Legil-Galad asked simply, rubbing his arm to numb the pain.

"I was only following your advice." The soldier said, almost meekly. "You do not strike as quickly or with the same power with your left arm and at rest, your arm is bent."

"Very good." Legil-Galad said, giving the man a half smile. The elf then stepped away from the soldiers, waving for them to continue.

The soldiers continued sparring for a time, asking Legil-Galad many questions ranging from different attacks of the _pet-muina _to his life in Mirkwood. Legil-Galad found that he did not mind the men's interest and answered them readily. He was in the midst of explaining a complex move to one of the younger soldiers when he felt a newcomer's presence.

"I see the elven lord has deigned to impart his wisdom to us after all."

Legil-Galad turned around slowly, knowing who addressed him before he saw the man. "I could teach my lord Steward the art of _pet-muina_ if you so desire."

"I have no need of elvish witch craft; cold steel is effective enough." Denethor said, a haughty gleam in his eyes. The steward waved the soldiers away, walking towards Legil-Galad in deliberate slowness. Legil-Galad never relaxed his stance; he watched the Steward walk to the wall and then turn back towards him.

"You may think yourself welcome in my city but you are mistaken. The _wizard,_ Mithrandir is crafty and I can see how he wishes to turn my people from me." Denethor clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace the perimeter of the practice ring. Legil-Galad felt the fire of his anger build back into an inferno as he watched a predatory gleam come into the Steward's eye.

"If your quarrel is with Mithrandir, why do you bother with me? I can clearly see that you think me beneath you." Legil-Galad said, his tone measured. Denethor looked up at the elf with poorly disguised disdain.

"I know who you are, Legil-Galad of _Mirkwood._ I have seen where your allegiance lies and know that you will abandon all to ruin for an insignificant woman who calls herself a messenger of the Valar." Denethor's expression turned triumphant when he saw the sparks in Legil-Galad's eyes.

"You know nothing of me, Steward. I would think you would be grateful for even one extra warrior to defend your people, especially now since you have sent your remaining heir to almost certain death." Legil-Galad leveled a fiery glare at the Steward; the pair stared each other down for several minutes. Denethor's glare was nearly as hot as Legil-Galad's and his face twitched in agitation. Finally, Legil-Galad broke the stare.

"By your leave, Steward." Legil-Galad said mockingly, the menace barely disguised in his voice. He walked around Denethor then, never looking back. He could feel Denethor's glare boring into his back as he walked away and it made the elf's skin crawl. Something was not right about the man though the elf could not put his finger on what it was. He had spoken to no one other than Faramir and Gandalf about Tára.

Legil-Galad walked quickly through the palace complex, stopping at his provided chamber. He walked into the room, finding his sword and strapping the weapon on in one quick motion. Then he took Tára's sword. He had found the armory the night before and had managed to find a piece of discarded leather and some leather thongs. He had wrapped Tára's sword in the leather, braiding the thongs around the sword. Legil-Galad slung the weapon across his back, tying the leather thongs around his chest. He did not bother to take anything else and did not wish to; Legil-Galad did not plan to return to this room if he could help it.

Legil-Galad left his room quickly, making his way out of the sixth level. He walked quickly through the streets, dodging between the few people that were out. When Legil-Galad reached the third level, he encountered the wagons of the wounded. The line of wagons snaked its way through the entire level, heading for the houses of healing. Without looking at the men inside the wagons, Legil-Galad knew many of them would not survive. The charnel house smell of war covered the wagons in its heavy blanket; the seasoned warrior in Legil-Galad did not balk at the smell though the elf could not be free of the grim procession fast enough. After a few moments, Legil-Galad finally came to the first level. He strode across the courtyard, taking the stairs to the top of the wall two at a time. Soldiers lined the battlements, barely casting Legil-Galad a glance as he walked to the edge of the wall. As Legil-Galad looked out onto the Pelennor, someone stepped to his side.

"Mithrandir told me that you will fight with us."

Legil-Galad looked over, seeing that it was the Prince of Dol Amroth that addressed him. Imrahil kept his eyes straight ahead, never looking away from the field below.

"It would be a boon to us if you would. I know the time of your people is fading and it strengthens my heart to know that there are those of you that still care about the workings of the world." Imrahil looked at Legil-Galad then. The elf looked into the man's eyes, surprised to see an almost elven depth in Imrahil's expression.

"I would fight with any that oppose the enemy, though these days there are few free peoples that have not already taken up arms. Even now, my kinsfolk fight against the shadow under the trees of their home."

"You speak as if you will not return to your homeland." Imrahil said, casting a look at Legil-Galad. The elf's already dark expression deepened as he turned his eyes outwards.

"These days are evil and hope for hearth and home seems to be a foolish thing when faced with the end of all things." Legil-Galad continued to gaze into the murky light, seeing the dark spec of orcs scurrying about like ants on the distant plain. Imrahil was silent at Legil-Galad's side and for many moments, the pair continued their inner musings. Imrahil first stirred, breaking the silence.

"I must see to my men; if it pleases you, I would ask you to fight amongst my Swan knights. I would be honored to fight along an elven lord." At these words, Imrahil turned away, walking down the wall and disappearing down the steps. Legil-Galad turned once again towards the Pelennor, his mood darkening another shade. Without much thought, Legil-Galad decided not to leave the wall.

_When battle comes, I will be here to meet it._

* * *

A/N:Thank you all for your continued reads and reviews! It makes writing all the more fun. :) I know this chapter was mostly filler but sometimes (as a writer) you need filler. Let me tell you though, writing "filler" is almost more arduous then when there's action. Anyways, enough of my wool-gathering. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

Tára woke up when her face hit the ground. It took a moment for her to regain her breath and remember where she was. She tried to crawl to her hands and knees but found herself sprawling back on her face. Ragged rope burns circled her wrists and her hands and feet were numb. Tára managed to roll over on her back, screaming when she saw what stood over her. The same uruk had carried her and dosed her with the foul, black liquid the orcs called grog, stood over her with a blank look on his face. A far away part of Tára's mind wondered if the uruk had done something wrong to be assigned as her jailer.

"Can you walk?" the uruk asked in a near shout. Tára only shook her head, still trying to make her mind work correctly. The uruk reached down and grabbed Tára by the arm, hauling her to her feet. The world spun crazily as Tára tried to gain her balance. Then her knees buckled and she fell, nearly bashing her face into the hard ground again. She heard the uruk mutter something under his breath then felt his large arms lift her up again. To Tára's surprise though, the uruk carried her in front of him, almost cradling her against his chest. Tára's stomach rolled at the rotten smell coming from the uruk but she did not fight against the beast. She did not want to be flung over its shoulder again.

"You'll have to stand on your own rotten legs when you talk to the Shrieker. I'll have nothing to do with that thing and I won't be carrying you around like your cursed mother." The uruk rumbled, never looking down at Tára. Tára barely nodded in understanding, trying to control her racing heart. She looked in the direction the uruk was taking her; the orc Gothmog stood on top of a collapsing aqueduct and the Lord of the Nazgûl sat upon his Fell Beast beside Gothmog. The uruk walked within a stone's throw of the daunting trio, then set Tára down next to a crumbling pillar of rock.

"You're on your own, rat." The uruk said, walking away without another word. Tára looked up in fear, what little color she had in her face draining away. She leaned heavily against the fallen stones, trying to breath past the pain of her body and the panic rising in her chest.

"We have some questions for you, _light bringer._" Gothmog chuckled mockingly, taking a limping step towards Tára.

* * *

"Faramir! Faramir!" the dismayed cry rang up from the courtyard.

Legil-Galad ran through the crowd of ragged looking soldiers, elbowing his way between the men until he stood before the gate. Prince Imrahil rode through the gate, his horse heaving and covered in foam. Legil-Galad caught the bridle of the animal, handing it off quickly to a soldier nearby. He looked up into the saddle, barely catching the limp body of Faramir as he slumped forward. Imrahil jumped down, helping Legil-Galad lay Faramir on the ground. Legil-Galad placed two fingers on the man's neck, barely feeling the flutter of a pulse.

"He has been poisoned by the darts of Harad." Imrahil said, tossing two feathered darts on the ground.

"He needs a healer soon or it will be too late." Legil-Galad lifted Faramir's shoulders off the ground as soldiers slid a litter under his body. Then, with as much speed as they could muster, two soldiers began to carry Faramir through the city. Imrahil walked behind the men, nodding at Legil-Galad in thanks as the elf fell into step beside him. They made their way quickly through the city; those who stood in their way, quickly moved to the side when they saw whom they carried. What small number of women who were left in the city, stood in the doorways of their homes, wiping tears off their faces as the men walked by. Word had spread quickly that the Captain of Gondor had been struck down and Legil-Galad could see the hope draining from the people.

It seemed like an eternity to Legil-Galad until they came to the entrance of the citadel. Denethor stood on its steps, a blank look on his face. Imrahil began to speak to Denethor, hailing Faramir's deeds and urging the Steward to send for the healers.

"Do not touch my son." Denethor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Prepare a bed in the tower chamber and leave us." Denethor shot a sharp glance at Imrahil and the man fell silent in surprise.

"My lord, he needs medicine!" the Halfling, called Pippin by most, ran forward and knelt next to Faramir. Legil-Galad had seen the hobbit occasionally with Gandalf though had paid him little notice otherwise. Legil-Galad did not do this out of dislike or disrespect but merely because the Halfling waited on the Steward most days and Legil-Galad had avoided contact with the man. The elf watched in growing anger as the Steward brushed the hobbit away, motioning for the citadel guards to take Faramir away.

"The Halfling is right; your son needs a healer." Legil-Galad said, catching the arm of one of the guards carrying Faramir.

"Do not touch my son!" Denethor yelled, drawing his sword. Legil-Galad dropped his hand from the guard as the Steward pressed the blade against his chest.

"Your death will come sooner or later elf, and it will not ail my soul to bring it about by my hand." Denethor held his sword with both hands, his knuckles white. The Steward's expression was manic and his face twitched with strain. Legil-Galad backed away from the man, even though the fire in his chest urged him to fight.

"My lord, will you not…" Imrahil began, stepping between Legil-Galad and Denethor.

"Take my son to the tower chamber. Let no one in save me." Denethor cut Imrahil off, lowering his sword. The Steward turned quickly, following the men bearing Faramir away. Legil-Galad stood stock still, inwardly fuming. He watched as the Halfling ran after Denethor, distress clearly written on his childlike features. Something touched Legil-Galad on the shoulder and he whirled around, catching Imrahil's hand in midair. Surprise chased quickly across Imrahil's face, though the man recovered quickly.

"Mithrandir needs us." Imrahil said, casting a look upon the city below.

"So we leave the captain to die?" Legil-Galad asked, his voice nearly a whisper. Imrahil cast another look down upon the city and sighed.

"We must trust the Valar to see him through and pray we do not meet our fates in the coming days." Imrahil turned away from the citadel, his posture grim but not defeated. Legil-Galad stood in the citadel courtyard and watched the man walk away; the elf could not make himself move for fear of pursuing the Steward. Legil-Galad knew if he was anywhere near Denethor he would not be responsible for his actions.

Legil-Galad stood still, looking out toward the Pelennor as the ranks of the enemy made their way steadily forward. His thoughts were increasingly dark and Legil-Galad began to feel his faith in any supernatural providence crumble away. Legil-Galad let the fire in his chest burn free, trying to burn away his feeling of helplessness. The elf could feel his control slipping as the fire grew; a spike of fear trickled down the elf's spine, as the inferno nearly broke free of his grasp. Then, as Legil-Galad felt his tenuous hold slipping, something caught his attention. A ghostly light shone out from the windows of the tower above. Legil-Galad watched for a few moments until the light flickered and then went out. He studied the tower for a few more minutes, wondering what caused the light. Suddenly, Legil-Galad's elven ears picked up a startling sound. He turned back towards the city, his eyes seeing what had caused the noise.

"Elbereth…" Legil-Galad watched as orbs of flame sailed over the wall of the first level. Without another thought, Legil-Galad began to run towards the lower levels as the screams of those below rose to meet him.

* * *

Tára held onto the pile of rubble, fighting to stay upright. If it were not for the terror rising in her chest, Tára would have already sunk to the rocky ground. The feeling had finally returned to her hands and feet though Tára's legs began to shake like jelly. Turning herself around, Tára leaned her back against the ruble; she looked up at Gothmog, trying her best to look brave. The orc must have seen quickly through her ruse because he smiled ruthlessly and started to hobble forward.

"You're looking spent, rat." Gothmog chuckled, apparently enjoying Tára's distress. "Where are the Valar now? Are they asleep? Did they forget you?" the orc continued to laugh, his voice hoarse and grating. Tára would have flinched as the sound hit her ears though her thoughts were otherwise occupied; dark spots had begun to swim in her vision and Tára feared she would not be able to stand much longer. She lowered her head, sinking down to sit on the ground. Gothmog's laughter was beginning to sound farther away as the darkness became a ring around Tára's vision. After a moment, Tára realized that Gothmog was no longer laughing. Tára raised her head slowly, watching Gothmog say something to the Nazgûl. She heard the Nazgûl's chilling voice as it pierced through her hazy thoughts. She could not understand the language it spoke but it chilled Tára to her core. After a moment, Gothmog shrugged and stepped aside as the Wraith dismounted its Fell beast. Terror preceded the Wraith like a chilling mist as it walked toward Tára. It stopped an arm's length away from her seeming to wait for something. Tára pushed herself up with all her strength, scraping her back on the crumbling rock.

"The Master wishes for you to see the consequences of your refusal." The Wraith pointed an armored hand behind Tára. She turned so that she could look behind herself, her eyes widening at what she saw.

Far off in the distance, the Morgul host had crept its way to Minas Tirith. In the murky light, Tára could see the orange blaze of flame coming from the distant city. Row upon row of catapults launched flaming orbs into the air at an alarming pace. Her mind scrambled to remember what she had learned in the histories about the siege of Minas Tirith. Something was not adding up but Tára could not reason what it was. Tára continued to watch the rain of fire upon the city when her eyes caught movement along the river. Despair fell on her like a dark blanket as Tára realized what was happening before her eyes.

Several trolls waded deep into the river, hauling giant spiked structures behind them. Tára could barely make out the figure of orcs as they scrambled about the structures, loosening the ropes that the trolls pulled. In a frighteningly short amount of time, only a narrow passage remained. The spiked towers formed a deadly gauntlet along the river. The orange light of torches sprang up on the structures, and Tára saw that on top of each tower were giant cauldrons, filled with a smoking liquid. One of the trolls lost its footing in the river, jostling the tower it pulled. Some of the smoking liquid atop the tower spilled out, immediately bursting into flames wherever it landed. Some liquid even fell into the river, continuing to burn as it followed the river's current.

"No, no… this can't happen." Tára whispered, tears starting to fill her eyes. She heard Gothmog chuckle somewhere behind her but it was the Wraith's voice that pulled her away.

"You see something that troubles you?" the Wraith asked, an unintelligible hiss following his words. Tára turned around as quickly as she could manage, trying to hide her tears. She was about to speak when Gothmog interrupted her.

"There's no need to lie to us, rat. The only path your _king _could follow would be the river." Gothmog smirked at Tára, puffing his chest out arrogantly. "It was a fortunate thing that you travelled with the ranger when you did. If the Shriekers had not found you, they would not know the ranger's path. It is only a matter of time now."

"You're bluffing." Tára said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. In the back of her mind, Tára knew she should not speak to either of her captors but she could not help the words coming from her mouth.

"Why would we bluff, she-rat? Because the Shriekers saw your king fleeing into the Dead Mountain, the Master sent his spies to the Black fleet. The Master knows of the Corsair's defeat. He knows that the ranger hopes to ambush this army." Gothmog laughed cruelly, staring at the blockade on the river proudly.

"The line of Isildur will finally meet its end." The Wraith said. Tára looked up at the cloaked figure quickly, feeling like she had been punched in the stomach. She could feel the chill of the Wraith's unseen gaze seep into her soul; the despair she felt was almost palpable and threatened to rip a hole in her chest.

"Then why am I still here?" Tára managed, her voice sounding small and weak to her ears.

"Power." Gothmog turned back towards Tára and laughed. "To show all of Middle Earth that even the servant of the Valar is no match for the Dark Lord. To crush the hope of all who oppose the Master."

Tára felt her breath leave her in a rush as she sank back to the ground. She had disobeyed the command of the Valar out of cowardice and now, the whole of Middle Earth would pay the price. Tára covered her face with shaking hands, feeling her tears fall through her fingers. Gothmog began to laugh, yelling a command to someone in the distance. Tára felt a strong grip on her shoulder and looked up. Her uruk-jailer stood next to her, and he pulled Tára roughly to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily, looking up into the face of the uruk. The beast looked towards the Nazgûl behind Tára, a deep growl rising from its chest.

"What do you want me to do with this rat?" the uruk asked the Wraith, turning away from it with a disgusted look on his dark face.

"Take her to Grond." The Wraith said, turning away. It mounted its Fell beast, seemingly watching the progress of the army.

"Please, please just…" Tára began when the uruk cut her off.

"The Shrieker says take you to Grond, so to Grond we shall go." The uruk then bent and grabbed Tára around her waist, lifting her with ease. He tossed her over one of his shoulders with a grunt; the air in Tára's lungs left in a rush as she dropped onto the uruk's shoulder. As soon as the uruk was sure Tára was settled, he began to run. Tára held onto the uruk's crude armor as best she could, gritting her teeth as the uruk's run bounced her painfully. Within a matter of minutes, the darkness began to ring Tára's vision and she struggled to maintain her hold on the uruk. It proved to be too difficult a task and Tára finally blacked out.

* * *

Legil-Galad ducked below the edge of the wall as an enemy catapult launched a flaming orb into the city. Nearly all the first level was in flames and most defenders had retreated to the higher levels. Time had lost all meaning and Legil-Galad could not remember when he had joined the fighting. He had reached the first level soon after the catapults began their assault; he had found Prince Imrahil, and stood at the man's side as he commanded a group of soldiers at a trebuchet. For many hours, that was all the action that took place. Then, there had come a deadly calm right before the siege towers reached the walls. Legil-Galad had taken up a bow with a group of archers, felling several trolls that pushed the towers forward. Their efforts did little to slow the enemy and in a short time, the towers had finally reached the walls. Legil-Galad fought with Imrahil's men along the southern stretch of the wall. Where one orc was cut down, another took its place in a never-ending surge. As the defenders began to dwindle, the knights of Dol Amroth fought towards the gate, taking the center of the wall and pushing the enemy back on both sides. The fighting was fierce; Legil-Galad watched helplessly as soldiers of Gondor, and Swan Knights alike began to fall faster than before. Legil-Galad knew his limits well and he was beginning to feel the slow burn of exhaustion seep into his muscles. He knew though, that he was faring better than many others were, as his eyes fell on the slumped forms of men past or near death.

Legil-Galad sprang from his hiding place, making his way through the flaming rubble. He had spotted a pocket of men surrounded by orcs a little ways down the wall. He fell upon the orcs quickly, dispatching them swiftly. The men fell behind Legil-Galad, moving along the wall, bolstering those left that needed help. As they crossed over the arch of the gate, Legil-Galad looked into the field below. His eyes caught a peculiar sight; the orcs had ceased battering the gate with their small ram and several trolls walked through the pile of bodies, pushing the corpses of orcs away in a wide path. A slow chant, rose from the dark ranks of Mordor and even with his elven hearing, Legil-Galad could not understand the words that floated above the battle.

"Legil-Galad!"

Legil-Galad looked to where his name was being called, seeing Gandalf astride Shadowfax in the courtyard below.

"What do your eyes see from the enemy?" the wizard looked up at Legil-Galad, his face haggard and worn. Legil-Galad turned back towards the enemy, his eyes widening at what he saw. A thick cloud of smoke hovered above the closest ranks of orcs; below the cloud, giant, unnamed beasts pulled against a heavy yoke. Though the beasts looked ponderous, they moved quickly towards the gate. The wind shifted slightly, blowing the smoke away from the city; Legil-Galad's heart sank when he realized what the beasts were pulling.

"They are drawing a great ram to the gate! They will be upon us in minutes!"

"Call the men to me!" Gandalf yelled, riding Shadowfax to the center of the courtyard. Legil-Galad began waving men that could be spared off the wall; as the men filed past, Legil-Galad continued to watch the progress of the battering ram. As it neared, the chanting of the enemy grew louder, turning into a cacophony of frenzied yells and screams. For a moment, the fighting on the wall ceased. The battering ram moved ever closer, cloaked in a dark cloud of smoke. The wind shifted again, blowing the smoke away from the battering ram. The head of a ravenous wolf loomed out of the smoke. A great fire burned between its jaws, causing the oily black smoke that shrouded its passage. Legil-Galad looked above the great wolf's head, seeing two uruks on the frame above. The smoke from the wolf's mouth obscured Legil-Galad's vision for a moment then the wind finally gusted, blowing the smoke away completely. Legil-Galad looked again towards the uruks, wondering why they neither moved or had weapons drawn. One of the uruks, the larger of the two, held a chain in his hands. Legil-Galad followed the length of the chain with his eyes, his heart suddenly freezing in his chest. There, with heavy manacles about her wrists, stood Tára.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than others but I'm coming to section of the story that is hard to find places to end chapters. Ooh, and that nasty Gothmog... what a cheap shotting-annoying orc. ;) I hope you all are enjoying things so far. Thank you for all your reads and reviews!


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